


Succumb To Ashes

by hybrdbastard



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Lore, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Eventual Smut, Gay Character, Gay Male Character, Gay Romance, Lavellan Backstory, Lavellan/Solas Fluff, M/M, POV Lavellan, Romance, Slow Burn, Solas - Freeform, Solas Being Solas, Solas is Fen'Harel, solas x lavellan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-03-27 06:14:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13874880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hybrdbastard/pseuds/hybrdbastard
Summary: “I can say, however,” Solas spoke up again, “I was relieved you survived.”Orion’s breath caught in his throat, head flying up to look into Solas’ eyes. His companion was regarding him intently, expression unreadable. Finding himself unnerved, he let out a casual laugh, waving his left hand.“Why wouldn’t you be? Our situation would likely be lost without the mark.”The apostate let out a sigh, shaking his head and pushing the chair back to stand again. He fixed the inquisitor with a direct gaze. Orion felt his pulse harden in his throat, the sound resonating in his ears as the older mage leaned forward a bit, palms bracing flat against the surface that separated them. When they were this close, he could feel Solas’ breath dancing across his face.“That isn’t what I’m referring to. Yes, the mark is important. But I am relieved you survived.”-A former slave to Tevinter survives the Conclave; falling into the role that leaves the fate of the world in his grasp. Have mercy, Fen'Harel ma halam.-This story follows The Inquisitor’s Path and the events of Trespasser. It’s main focus, of course, being the romance between Solas and Male Lavellan.





	1. Dangerous Assumtions

 Orion watched the fire carefully; calculating the way the orange flames licked brightly in contrast to the night’s obsidian sky. It was late; mostly everyone present at Skyhold had retired hours ago, save for a few clusters of drunken soldiers lingering about. A sigh passed his lips, inaudible but nevertheless a sure sign of comfort. Fire never failed to make him feel at ease; it was such an unpredictable element, and yet he felt a connection to it that left him forgetting often it was not a living thing. 

Seeing that he was alone and away from anyone distrustful of mages, he stretched one arm out, observing the way his fingers nimbly danced close to the flames. Tingles shot up his wiry limb, his flesh dangerously close to kissing them. Instinctively, he passed a hand through the fire quickly, coming back with a small flame hovering over his palm. It was easy to forget some magic didn’t require a staff to wield. Smiling at the thought, he reached out again, intent to begin manipulating it further when the sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention away.

Pulling back with his idle flame once more, Orion didn’t bother looking over his shoulder to gaze at who was arriving. He was acutely aware already by the light, graceful steps alone. He briefly wondered if there was anything Solas did that wasn’t calculated.

“Trouble sleeping?,” the older mage asked, coming to stand beside him easily.

“I could ask you the same,” Orion shot back gently, flicking his hand outward and releasing the heat from his palm at last to join the rest of the fire once more.

Solas let out a soft laugh, compelling the shorter of the pair to look at him. Orion regarded the sharp line of his jaw carefully before absorbing the rest of his face, wishing he could find flaw in it somewhere; anywhere. It seemed even the scar on his forehead was placed purposely, and he found himself noting it seemed somewhat unfair. He’d always thought so, even upon their first meeting months ago.

“I’m afraid so.”

Orion sniffed, finally looking away. “I’m surprised. I thought most of your spare time was spent travelling through the Fade.”

Solas raised an eyebrow, this time turning his head to regard his companion.

“While that is true, I am distracted tonight. There is much to take in at the events surrounding Haven. Perhaps that is what plagues your mind as well?”

“No,” Orion answered immediately, before considering if that was truly the case. “I’ve been thinking of how much my life has changed over the course of it’s duration. I suppose the last few months are most prominent, but then, I’m sure that statement in itself is quite stupid. Whose life hasn’t?”

Solas seemed to ponder that before replying.

“It’s true that no one person has a shortage of change throughout their years; however, I would say you are a special case. Not many find themselves at centre of a war against a former Tevinter magister. Does it weigh on you?”

Orion thought perhaps, briefly, he caught concern in the timbre of Solas’ voice. He deemed it best not to linger on it, however. They were not close; not as much so as he’d hoped, but he supposed that wasn’t necessarily his doing. The older mage kept to himself, though Orion had noticed that when prompted, Solas hadn’t seemed to have a problem answering anything he asked him. There appeared to be some form of trust between them, at the very least.

Shaking himself, he brought his mind back to the present, throwing his companion a teasing smirk.

“I must point out that, even if it did, it’s far too late to go about announcing it. I am needed now, and fortunately for the lot of you, I am not so selfish, or stupid, to walk away. But regardless, no, it doesn’t bother me. I’m not alone in this.”

“Would you have left if you were not needed any longer?,” Solas asked suddenly, their eyes finally meeting.

Orion swallowed carefully, searching the pair of hazel irises just hardly an inch above his own. Reaching up, he ran a hand along the thick rope that was his hair, enjoying the way the strands melded together at the crown of his head, only to end just above his hips.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “Perhaps, though not immediately, for I’m afraid there isn’t exactly much for me to return to at the moment.”

Solas seemed surprised at that, extending a hand outward toward the fire as if to warm it.

“Not even your clan?”

Orion didn’t bother to hide his annoyance at the question, letting out a scoff. For all he enjoyed about Solas, his assumptions about his being Dalish were nothing short of irritating. He’d never bothered to inquire about him while Orion, on the other hand, had spent plenty of time asking about his older companion. Clicking his tongue, he stepped sideways, pointedly putting distance between them.

“You realize, for all we’ve discussed, you’ve never asked about where I come from.”

The elven apostate seemed genuinely taken aback by the comment, turning to the inquisitor like he’d grown two heads. Orion gave him a smile he knew was charming, hardly concerned with the bite behind it. He couldn’t but feel bitter the other elf had never bothered to ask him anything worth knowing past surface quality. 

“You...are Dalish, are you not? We have made contact with you clan.” Solas pointed out with a frown, crossing both arms over his chest.

Orion shrugged, dragging a warm, golden-brown hand across his forehead.

“Yes and no. I was adopted into clan Lavellan, not born to them.”

No reply came, but when he looked in the hedge mage’s direction, he knew the other was silently asking him to continue.

Pleased at that, Orion turned back to the fire, cloaking his hand in protective magic before reaching out and drawing his hand through the flames, enticed by the way they didn’t mar his flesh. The heat felt intoxicating with its intensity, and inability to burn him. Perhaps it was foolish, seeing he wasn’t a young mage who’d just been exposed to magic for the first time, but he couldn’t help but be impressed by it. Clearing his throat, he parted his lips to continue.

“I do not know who my father is. It’s likely he was a Tevinter slave, however, just like my mother. Like myself.” Orion didn’t bother himself with seeing Solas’ reaction, finding he didn’t care. He doubted there was much of one to begin with.

“I remained enslaved to a magister until I was eighteen. My mother encouraged me to leave many, many times before reaching that point, but I would never have deserted her. Not until then, at least. A regret I will always carry with me.”

“He knew I was a mage. I believe my father was as well; there is no one in my mother’s family with magical ability, so I have to imagine that’s where it comes from to begin with.” Orion paused, frowning at the way the story flowed unsteadily. He supposed it was natural, however, seeing that it wasn’t a tale he often shared. Not even his clan knew it save for one member.

He took a moment to gesture towards the dark emerald and deep brown tattoos weaving down his arms, and up his neck. Their intricate pattern of leaves and vines covered his entire body; even decorating the high plates that were his cheekbones. A remnant of his magical binding broken years before falling into the inquisition.

“I figure you made them out as much, but perhaps not. My tattoos aren’t vallaslin. It goes without saying but for sake of an entertaining tale, my magister was quite powerful. He bound my magic for no other reason, I’m sure, than exorcising control. However, I always knew it was better that way. A much better punishment than my mother being killed for having a child in the first place.”

“My mother believed wholeheartedly that finding a Dalish clan would be the way I would be freed, and able to practice as a mage. She was not wrong, but still, I couldn’t bring myself to leave her. I was too afraid of the consequences, and rightfully so. But over time, she wore me down; my protests became weaker as her desperation became stronger. She loved me more than I loved her; loved herself.”

Orion felt a spike of pain erupt in his chest, breaking his tale to take a steadying breath. Vulnerability wasn’t an option in his eyes; it was weak, and he would not be lowered that way before anyone.

“So I escaped; of course, promising to return for her. It is hard not to look down on my actions then, but I was a child, and children are unwaveringly naive. I truly believed I would be able to fulfill that promise.”

“You loved her,” Solas uncharacteristically interrupted, frowning in the latter’s direction. “Your actions were that of anyone's. Do not berate yourself for caring that way.”

The inquisitor tugged his braid roughly, choosing not to answer that and continue his take instead.

“It took me over a year to locate my clan. Naturally, living as a slave, there was much I hadn’t been exposed to. I thank fate alone for survival; I was near death by the time I reached them. I believe that may have been the initial reason my Keeper allowed me to stay.”

“When I was recovered, I explained my situation solely to her. She agreed to allow me to stay; it took us two years to figure out how to break the bindings on my magic. When it finally happened, the magic within me was. . .well, untamed, to put it easily. After being blocked for so long we shouldn’t have been surprised it was bursting at the seams. It took another three years to master it; my draw to fire as my chosen element was immediate.” Orion smiled at the last part, feeling an unexpected swell of pride in an otherwise agonizing tale.

“I won’t pretend living with the clan didn’t have its shortcomings. I couldn’t adapt to their way of life, despite having been used to being forced to live in one manner beforehand. I loved many of them, and I do see them as an extension of my family, but I cannot pretend to be one of them. They had little issue with my choosing to depart, even if most of them were unaware of the true reason. But I’d completed what I’d come to do; I was strong enough to go back for my mother. I didn’t have a clear plan past that.”

“When I returned, the magister was ready, of course. He was acutely aware it was only a matter of time before I returned.” Orion felt his heartbeat pick up then, unable to reign himself in for the briefest of moments. Solas remained silent still, not commenting on the way the fire before them shot a hair higher with a burst of energy.

“He told me I had aged well; beautifully, in fact. He’d never had a slave escape him before; none had dared. We are conditioned, of course, to accept that we are lesser. Few dare attempt. But I had, and he felt that was deserving of a reward. He’d waited until I arrived to kill my mother. He concluded I should see it with my own eyes.”

Solas finally spoke up, raising a hand in his direction before seeming to think the better of it.

“Inquisitor -”

“It was to fast for me to stop. He slit her throat like she was livestock.” Orion remembered how broken her body had felt when he’d cradled it to him; her head shaved, flesh covered with cuts and bruises. Her suffering had been long before he’d arrived, and he would always blame himself in part for it.

“I killed him before I even realized what I was doing. I cannot tell you how it happened, if he suffered. But I remember the fire was so violent it was blue. I burned his estate to the ground; regrettably with the other slaves still inside. I was too angry to care at the time; naturally, I wanted the world to suffer, to burn. I felt like I had nothing, that I was nothing. After all, my mother would never have died if I hadn’t left her to.”

“I returned to the clan shortly after; I imagine I wouldn't have lasted a day if that if I’d remained in Tevinter. My Keeper helped me through most of what came next. I will always be grateful to her for that, for I can’t imagine the person I would have been if that pain hadn’t been dealt with properly.”

Solas cleared his throat after unwary silence settled between them, causing Orion to notice he had closed the short distance between the two. The apostate stared down at him, seeming to calculate what he should say next. The dark-haired mage seized the opportunity to speak again before he had the chance to.

“And then of course, a few years later, came the Conclave. And now here I am. Here we  _ all  _ are, it would seem.”

“You are not what I expected,” came Solas’ answer, his eyes never leaving Orion’s face. The statement felt out of place and sudden, but he didn’t know exactly how to respond to it, so he chose not to be serious regarding it.

“Yes well, perhaps that’s because you’re used to being the only  _ unique  _ elf?”

Solas frowned, seeming to not appreciate the joke. Orion rolled his almond-shaped eyes carefully before narrowing them at his fellow mage.

“I’m teasing,” he pointed out. “Though since we appear to be on the topic of confessions of sorts, I only wish you’d asked me before. About where I come from. That’s all.”

“As do I. I apologize, lethallin. I didn’t mean to assume your. . .character. It was careless and arrogant.”

In place of answering, Orion summoned some of the fire into his palm again, before turning so the pair were no more than inches apart, the small flames dancing in his hand keeping them from touching. He watched the way it cast shadows over Solas’ mature features; darkening them in places that gave him an overall feral appearance.

“Yes well, see that it doesn’t happen again.” Turning his head both ways to ensure no one was near, he rose on balls of his feet, a breath away from the apostate’s face. He knew his eyes held anticipation, as if he were about to reveal a great secret. “Fire is dangerous to ignore, after all.”

Narrowing his eyes in response, Solas reached out and grasped Orion’s wrist tightly, his magic wrapping around both their hands. Smiling as he seemed to recognize the younger mage hadn’t expected it, he drew the now-dying flame into his own hand before returning it to the fire. The inquisitor looked on in surprise, not having thought Solas was capable. Though, on second thought, he realized that was foolish. Solas was quite a few years older; it wasn’t unlikely he was capable of many forms of magic.

“That is is,” he agreed, earning a snort from shorter elf.

“More seriously, Inquisitor,” he picked up. “I won’t make the mistake again. It was selfish to speak only of myself previously, and presume I knew what I needed - wanted - about you. And for what it’s worth, I am sorry for your mother. She seemed a marvelous person, to give up her life for yours.”

“She was,’ Orion agreed. “However, it was a long time ago. I’m not a child any longer; spare your comfort.”

“My wanting to comfort you does not stem from my viewing you as a child. Caring about one’s feelings from their companions is not exclusive to children,” Solas sniffed, then added, “Though you certainly are.”

A thick braid of sabre hair threatened to smack the apostate across the face as Orion whirled, raising a brow in mock fury. “Pardon me?”

Solas laughed; a genuine, elegant sound that caused warmth to spread in the inquisitor’s fingertips. He would’ve scowled at the reaction had he not been distracted by his companion’s words as he continued.

“You may be in your thirties, but your face is younger than a rose. And I am much, much older than you.” Solas paused before adding with a careful smirk, “Da’len.”

Orion rolled his eyes heavenward for what felt like the hundredth time, smiling in spite of himself.

“Call me that all you like, I will not acknowledge you as my elder. However, if you need a new walking stick, I’m sure I could use the practice in the Undercroft.”

“You wound me,” the hazel-eyed apostate laughed again. “Perhaps we have nothing to fear from Corypheus after all, with that tongue of yours alone you could end it all.”

The previous slave to Tevinter hadn’t truly registered the last part of what Solas said. He was busier watching the way the careful lines of his face changed when he laughed; became softer, less guarded. He wished it was a common occurrence. In fact, he wished spending time together was a more common occurrence. But he supposed it was pointless; they were in the middle of the world falling apart. However, he felt urged to tell Solas he enjoyed his company anyway, even it was fleeting and undoubtedly would not happen again past that night. He blamed the sudden brazen on sharing his personal life for voicing it against his better judgement.

“Perhaps,” Orion began carefully, looking down at one his tattoo-covered forearms. “In a different time, you and I would be closer friends. I enjoy your mind, despite it’s arrogance,” he told him, unable to resist adding the last part.

Solas leaned down then, peering into the latter’s face without flinching at their closeness. Despite feeling his heart rate shift, Orion didn’t allow his expression to reveal anything had changed.

“Seeing as the world may come to an end, I see no reason as to why the time must be different in order for you and I to be closer.” His breath was a cool wash over the inquisitor’s face, sending baby hairs that sprung lose from his braid gently back. “So visit me whenever you like. I enjoy your mind as well; you’re easily the first person who is open to hearing about the Fade and the way I view it.”

Wordlessly, Orion swept one arm outward, putting the fire out with a low sizzle. The sudden darkness came over them like a blanket, only the stars above offering illumination. It was then he realized how quiet it was; even the last few soldiers had lumbered off to their chambers. There was something unnerving about that thought; that he and Solas were the only two awake. Deliciously unnerving, but he refused to acknowledge that.

“I’ll consider it, then,” he answered, turning and readied to retire for the night. He was surprised when a firm hand clasped around his upper arm instead, holding him in place. 

“Please follow me to my room at the very least, Inquisitor. You should not wander the grounds alone.”

Orion didn’t argue as Solas started forward, choosing to silently follow, though the excuse sounded peculiar and forged to him. He wondered if the apostate had forgotten where they were - Skyhold was secure. It wasn’t as if there was anyone about to attack, lest they had an assassin in their midst, both of which were highly unlikely. Nevertheless, he followed the hedge mage to his holding, finding himself glad the room was still lit.

He hesitated as Solas strode to his desk for something, choosing to admire the walls around them. He’d only had the chance to visit once since their arrival; when the walls were bare. Now, they were covered in paintings - murals -, featuring different events that had come to pass for the inquisition. Featuring the inquisitor himself.

“You painted these?,” he asked, voice sounding far off, but having the sneaking suspicion this was the true reason his elder companion had wanted them to retire together. There was no telling though; the apostate’s entire being still felt shrouded in mystery. He doubted that would ever change no matter how close they were.

Solas stood up straight, clasping his hands behind his back and smiling kindly in the younger mage’s direction.

“Yes. You are an important person; you - your deeds - should be documented in way that displays them for what they are. Magnificent.”

“I -. . .see.”

Orion kept his gaze travelling, finally falling on the farthest wall from where he stood. His eyes widened in surprise at the painting there. This one in particular did not feature an event that had come to pass; it was simply him. Well, perhaps more accurately put, Solas’ attempt at making him up to be grander for history's sake. The painting was beautiful; the likeness nothing Orion could see in himself. It resembled him, of course, but he knew that his appearance was nothing near so fetching. He looked...gentle, and somehow severe at the same time. A expanse of water - perhaps a lake - was sprawled out before his figure, which was painted to be kneeled beside the shore. Midnight robes mixed with indigo poured from his body, hair loose and falling around his face and down his back as one hand extended towards the surface of the glowing water. The mood was painted high in the sky; it’s glow catching the white marble of a wolf’s statue in the distance.

Solas appeared at his side. “Do you like it?”

“It’s. . .flattering,” he answered carefully, frowning at the heat rising in his face. “You would never guess that person was born a slave, that I can say.”

“I suppose it is good then, I did not  _ paint _ a  _ slave _ ,” came the direct response. Orion winced, reading the message hinted with the hedge mage’s words. It wouldn’t be mature to begin taking blows at himself now purely because Solas was aware of his past.

“Sorry; no, I guess you didn’t. It’s difficult to absorb, is all. Imagine if someone painted something like this; would you be able to see yourself that way?”

Solas looked thoughtful, a shadow briefly passing over his face. His eyes flickered and there seemed to be something he  _ thought  _ to say before thinking better of it. Resignedly, he nodded in agreement.

“I suppose you have a fair point, lethallin. I, for one, happen to be biased in this regard. I did not paint you this way for the sake of the inquisition’s history. I painted it the way  _ I _ see  _ you _ .”

Orion was unsure whether or not it was the exhaustion of the late hour finally catching up with him, but he felt overwhelmed with that small statement. He reached a tawny hand up to briefly pinch the bridge of his nose, as though it were a means to stop his thoughts from getting ahead of themselves. Opening his eyes, he fixed both dark brown irises on Solas carefully, expression betraying nothing. His years would not be wasted, he reminded himself. The older elf was not his  _ hah’ren  _ or anything of the sort; he wouldn’t begin this nonsense of blushing. It was, after all, a painting. Solas didn’t strike him as the type to court  _ anyone _ , let alone someone leading the fight against Corypheus.

“Well, then. . .thank you.” He finished lamely, irritated to find his head was still filled with unreasonable thoughts. “I am tired. I’m going to retire for the night.”

Solas nodded rather diplomatically, bringing him back to reality when he could not do so himself. As he suspected, he reasoned with himself, it was just a painting.

“Goodnight then, Inquisitor.”

Orion paused at the doorway, frowning before waving a hand and putting out all the lamps in the room simultaneously, blanketing them in darkness for the second time that night.

“If we’re to be proper friends, just call me Orion, Solas.”

 


	2. Trust

Orion jolted awake with a strangled noised that caught in his throat, causing him to turn on his side and claw at his own neck before realizing nothing was wrapped around it. Hair that wasn’t plastered to his forehead with perspiration hung around his face like a curtain, shielding his panicked expression from the gaze of none other than his own reflection. Taking a steading breath, he swallowed, blinking slowly to take in his surroundings as he let his eyes travel the room. It was still taking to adjusting in comparison to his room back at Haven, but at least he knew where he was.

  
Rolling back into a heap of pillows, he exhaled loudly, waiting for his heartbeat to slow. The room was hardly lighter than a muddied gray, signaling he’d only been asleep for a few hours at most; a frustrating realization. But even more so was the fact he couldn’t remember his dream; what had terrified him so violently that’d he’d woken up. But, he supposed, it didn’t matter now. There was hardly a point in returning to sleep, especially if it would warrant the same result.

  
A shame; he was exhausted. Spending half the night playing with fire and sharing his past with Solas was slowly but surely looking like a mistake. Against his body’s protests, he rose, first walking to the balcony doors and throwing them open. The air inside his bedroom felt sweltering, and it was insufferable. A sigh of content passed his lips as cool, early morning air swept across his face.

  
Once he was satisfied with his adjusted body temperature and strands of hair were no longer stuck to his face, he returned inside, choosing to leave the doors open. The sound of wind against the mountains was soft, but comforting nevertheless. In three strides, the young mage found himself in front his vanity. It was far too extravagant for his taste, especially as someone who didn’t want or need to spend much time looking at themselves.

  
Tilting his head, he stared at his reflection carefully, studying it the way he always did; the way that would lead him to reach the same dissatisfied conclusion when it came to his appearance. He supposed there were some nice things about his features. His lips were full; his cheekbones were wide and prominent, matching the rest of his bone structure. His hair was long and thick, the color matching the blackest night. When it was loose like this, it had gentle waves that came to a stop at the line where his hips began. But then there was the rest of it; like his eyes, too small for his face, and the crookedness his nose had adopted from being broken by his master in childhood. A jagged scar on his left temple, ending just above his brow. There were so many things he couldn’t bare, which only added to his ill feelings about his appearance. It left him feeling vain, when he thought about it. There was little reason to care what he looked like; he’d spent most of his life without so much as someone batting an eyelash at him.

  
He let out huff as he collapsed on the stool placed before the sprawling mirror, scooping the brush a little off to the side and running it through his hair steadily. He supposed it would seem pointless to other’s to keep it so long, but it had been his mother’s favorite thing about him. He recalled the way she used to run her hands through it, telling him he was far more beautiful than anyone else in the world. The thought made him run the brush through his hair at a rougher pace, eager to begin tying it into the braid that kept it from being a nuisance in battle. The morning was already proving to be taxing, giving him little hope for what the rest of the day would have to offer.

-

The main hall was bright by the time Orion left his chambers, hair swaying gently as he bounded down the stairs on light feet. He could already hear the voices of strangers and friends alike, though there was one in particular he strained to make out. Opening the door, he couldn’t help but feel a small spark of relief when no one turned to regard him. Which each passing day, being a known figure grew easier. Still, it was undeniable that moments where he could breathe and allow himself to fade into the mask everyone else wore were relieving.

  
That relief, of course, was short-lived. The first cluster of nobles - most of which he couldn’t understand the need for their presence in the first place - tittered as he passed, causing the rest of hall to ripple. Josephine appeared before him almost immediately after, glowing as she always seemed to. He wondered briefly if she ever grew tired of her position, for she never seemed to lack a certain presence in front of him. What exactly that was, he couldn’t say.

  
“Inquisitor,” she greeted politely, clipboard and feather both in hand.

  
“Lady Josephine,” he answered, glad she was the first person he’d run into. It meant there was something he needed to know, and spared his exhausted mind from attempting conversation that involved creativity.

  
“I know it’s still early, Herald,” she began, eyes traveling over his face. If his sleep deprived appearance was as unbecoming as he thought, she seemed to know better than to comment on it. “And the events of Haven are still fresh in everyone’s mind, but it would seem there isn’t time to be spared. I just came to inform you that when you have a moment, Varric wishes to speak with you.”

  
When Orion gave her a questioning look, she glanced both ways before adding:

  
“It would be best if it was soon, Inquisitor. And if Cassandra was not aware of the situation.”

  
The mage blinked at her, genuinely confused. He wasn’t able to press for more, however. Their ambassador had already given him a charming goodbye, turning away with a smile he knew won over their growing number of Orlesian backers.

  
Stifling a sigh, he ignored the growing pain in his abdomen that begged to be fed in search of Varric. It was fortunate the dwarf spent a large amount of time in the main hall; Orion hadn’t needed to walk more than ten feet before he caught sight of him. The shorter male’s back was turned to him, facing a fire the mage believed was unnecessary considering the time of day.

  
The inquisitor came to stand beside him wordlessly, his curiosity growing. The pair hadn’t spoken much at all since he’d awoken the first time in Haven. Just thinking about it made him realize just how long ago that was; so much had happened.

  
“Orion,” Varric greeted warmly, as though they’d just spoken yesterday. The elf couldn’t help but smile in return, happy there were some still willing to call him by his given name instead of a title. He was beginning to think they’d all forgotten it.

  
“You wished to speak to me?,” he asked, gaze locked confidently with his red-haired companion’s.

  
“That’s a funny way of putting _needed_ ,” the dwarf quipped, returning his eyes to fire before them. He seemed uncharacteristically serious in that moment, causing unease to spike in the mage’s gut. “I have a friend I want you to meet. Someone who may be able to give you some friendly advice on how to kill Corypheus.”

  
Orion raised a brow in surprise; he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting the dwarf to say, but that certainly hadn’t been it.

  
“A friend?,” he intoned, crossing his arms over his chest. “And where, pray tell, are we going to meet your friend?”

  
Varric let out a laugh, already appearing to revert back into his usual mannerism. Throwing the elf a smirk, he gestured towards the front doors keeping the sounds of the mountains away.

  
“A few hundred feet, actually. I know you’re the Inquisitor now, so if you need someone to help carry you up to the battlements to meet with us, I’m sure we can arrange it. So long as it’s not Cassandra.”

  
Letting out a small laugh, Orion glanced at the doors before looking back to his companion. “Well, it’s certainly better than travelling so soon after Haven, that I can say. And if they have information about the enemy, I can’t exactly pass that up. However, I must ask since both yourself and Josephine mentioned it; what does Cassandra have to do with this? Or perhaps, more accurately put, why is her lack of involvement important?”

  
Varric seemed to consider his words carefully before answering.

  
“Look, we all know how Cassandra feels about certain things. Such as honesty. So let's just say that _a little white lie_ I told her a while ago would cause a shitstorm if she found out. That's all.”  
“Anyways, I don’t see a point in waiting around any longer. My friend may be here on my request, but it’s you who needs this. So come on.”

  
Varric started forward without him, and Orion couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of annoyance that for the second time that morning someone was taking off without a word from him. But seeing he wasn’t in the mood to discuss it, he followed dutifully, glad at the very least the walk was silent.

  
Wind caused his braid to thump against his back as they climbed the steps leading up to the battlements, the sun warming his golden-brown skin despite the bite from the whooshing air. For someone with. . .much shorter legs than him, Varric moved swiftly, practically disappearing once they reached the top in what Orion assumed was haste.  
Cursing silently, he pushed his tired body forward at a more appropriate pace, catching a glimpse of the dwarf’s red hair moving down another flight of stairs; thankfully, much shorter than the last three. As he followed in suit, his attention was soon ensnared by a pair of broad, armored shoulders facing them. The mage wasn’t sure what exactly he’d been expecting - another dwarf, perhaps?

  
The man who turned to face them was disheveled, in Orion’s opinion. His hair was a shock of dark brown messily scattered across his head, beard untamed and matching the hard expression the inquisitor had a feeling was permanent on his face. A splatter of crimson marred the bridge of his nose; Orion couldn’t tell what it was supposed to be. It looked like fresh blood, but that seemed ridiculous. It had to be some sort of war paint. It wasn’t often he was wary merely from gazing at another person, let alone a human, but he felt a sort of darkened air surrounding the man standing before him.

  
“Orion,” Varric started, pulling him away from his staring. “Meet Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall.”

  
Hawke let out a snort at the title, though it appeared good natured in regards to Varric’s words.

  
“Just Hawke is fine. I don’t use that title much anymore.”

  
Varric gave the newcomer a look before waving a hand in Orion’s direction. “This is Orion, crowned Herald of Andraste. I think you could give him some friendly advice on dealing with Corypheus. You and I have fought him before.”

  
Orion wasn’t sure what to say; the whole interaction between the pair had his mind reeling with questions. Shaking his head, he noted he was being rude by holding back from giving a proper greeting to the man before him.

  
“It is good to meet you. Thank you for coming here to speak with me, even if I was unaware of it until ten minutes ago.” He threw Varric a look with the last part, who pretended not to notice.

  
Hawke turned away, leaning over the battlement with his arms crossed on it’s surface. Orion moved forward to stand by his side, assuming the silence that followed the action was his permission. Below, the courtyard was becoming more active as more members of the inquisition rose; a welcome sight contrasting the heavy air surrounding the trio above them.

  
“I’m not so sure you want my advice,” the human by his side bit out. “After all, it was my advice that almost turned everything to ruin in the first place.”

  
“Almost,” Orion said, unable to help himself. “Nothing is solved easily. If it were, we would all still be at Haven. There would still _be_ a Haven.”

  
When Hawke didn’t respond, he looked skyward. “To put it plainly, I would be lost without the allies I currently have. I could never have done what I have without their help. You have something of value, whether you recognize that or not. No one else here has dealt with this Elder One prior. So yes, I want your advice.”

  
The infamous champion beside him sighed. “Looking down this way reminds me of the same balcony I stood on back in Kirkwall. There was a time when I loved it; the ability to see everyone, everything. Until I realized all it was, was a platform for me to observe the faces of all those who depended on me.”

  
“It doesn’t feel real, most time of the time,” Orion mused, understanding spreading within at Hawke’s words. He tried not to think about the amount of lives weighing on their success; it was far too overwhelming with everything else going on.

  
“Unfortunately for you, it is. However, I think I of all people would understand what you mean,” Hawke agreed, his tone finally relaxing a bit. “I don’t envy you, Inquisitor. Half the world relies on you; I wouldn’t wish that responsibility on anyone. But I can help you.”

  
“We have fought Corypheus before,” Varric repeated, reminding the pair he was still present. “Fought, and killed, actually. Well, I thought we killed him.”

  
“At the time, Corypheus used his direct connection to darkspawn to somehow control the Grey Wardens. Their recent disappearance suggests the same thing could be happening again.”

  
Orion felt his stomach knot, any lingering traces of hunger disappearing immediately. He recognized it was naive, considering recent events, but he’d assumed some sort of reprieve in light of everything. Corypheus seemed to have allies everywhere, and with this, he felt a flicker of doubt that they would ever gain the advantage, let alone defeat him.

  
“Don’t look so grim, Dalish,” Varric said, bumping his hip roughly with an elbow. “I didn’t invite Hawke here just to upset everyone. Just some people.”

  
The unfamiliar mage spoke up, ignoring the dwarf’s playfulness. Orion was grateful at least the two of them were capable of taking the situation seriously.

  
“I have a friend in the Grey Wardens; one looking into something else for me. The last time we spoke, he had concerns about issues within their ranks. Since then, there’s been nothing more. He made sure to let me know since the Warden’s disappearance that he’s been hiding out in Crestwood.”

  
“What were you looking into before coming here that involved the Wardens, exactly?,” the inquisitor asked, unable to retain the suspicion in his voice. This man may have been Varric’s friend, but Orion wouldn’t be so easily swayed.

  
“Back at Kirkwall, I noticed the templars using an unknown form of lyrium; colored red. I was hoping to learn more about it with the help of my friend.”

  
“During the attack at Haven, Corypheus had assistance from templars. What you’re describing sounds strikingly familiar to what they were employing, if not exact.”

  
“Which is why I have hope my friend will know more,” Hawke told him. If he was bothered at all by the earlier suspicions, he didn’t show it. “If you would allow it, I’d like to travel to Crestwood, along with you, Inquisitor. Whatever waits for us there will be useful.”

  
There was no arguing that. Whether he was to trust Varric’s companion or not seemed like a small matter in comparison to the information he had shared. If Corypheus was even potentially involved, it would be a careless and ignorant mistake to ignore it. Nodding, he pushed away from the edge of battlements without warning, giving their dwarven companion yet another _look_ before heading towards the stairs leading to the courtyard below.

  
Pausing before he began his descent, he glanced towards the odd pair a few feet away.

  
“I’ll speak to the advisors then, and make the appropriate arrangements. If what you say is true, there’s likely little time to waste. It shouldn’t take more than a day to make the necessary arrangements for the journey; I just need to make the - my - advisors aware beforehand. Until then,” he nodded, turning away and practically bolting down the stairs.  
In truth, Orion hadn’t allowed himself much time to reflect on the events of Haven before last night. It had been a shock to many - he didn’t want anyone to endure another tragedy so soon after. He hoped acting quickly on this was the right move; and if it wasn’t, well, he was sure the advisers would tell him so. Thoughts carrying him, he quickened his pace, glancing at everything but what lay in his path.

  
So focused on getting to war room, the inquisitor marched straight into someone’s solid back. A hiss of surprise passed his lips as he lost balance, body sliding towards the ground. However, he never felt the impact of it; two firm hands caught his own just in time.

  
Orion wished he’d fallen and perished anyways when he found himself blinking up into Solas’ curious eyes. Clearing in his throat far too loudly, his gaze dropped, staring at their feet in embarrassment.

  
“Solas,” he began, adopting an apologetic tone he hoped was devoid of the shame he felt at his carelessness. “I apologize for — I hadn’t been paying attention.”

  
“I figured as much,” the apostate told him, but the words were gentle. “Where are you off to that has your attention drawn so?”

  
It was then Orion realized their hands were still joined, the pressure from the other mage’s fingers causing his heart to jump. All to quickly he pulled away, almond eyes widening as he felt another wave of embarrassment strike. Why wouldn’t the Maker put him out of his misery? He wouldn’t dare look at the elder elf in the face.

  
“It seems another issue has surfaced regarding Corypheus. Varric’s friend - the Champion of Kirkwall, actually- arrived this morning to deliver some news. Well, I suppose it was meant to be advice, but I don’t exactly feel better about our situation after theconversation.”

  
He refused to look up, but in his peripheral vision, he caught Solas crossing his arms over his chest thoughtfully.

  
“I see. A new development then. What’s changed?”

  
Out of habit, Orion reached for his braid, fingers grazing the ends of it carefully. “He has good reason to believe the Grey Warden’s disappearance is directly involved with Corypheus. Hawke claims to have a contact in Crestwood that would be able to tell us more. I gathered it would be foolish to not look into, so I was heading to inform the advisors.”

  
“Frankly, I’m wary. I would like to trust Varric, and his friend, but in light of everything. . .,” he trailed off, suddenly feeling stupid. “That’s foolish, isn’t it? Our dwarven friend wouldn’t endanger us like that. It’s unfair of me to make such a presumption.”

  
Solas considered that before shaking his head, inclining his head in a way that prompted Orion to finally meet his steady gaze.

  
“Though I agree there’s no reason to mistrust Varric, I understand your precaution. We find ourselves surrounded by enemies. Try to remind yourself those close to you have no desire to harm you; otherwise, I doubt you would’ve made it this far.”

  
Smiling when the inquisitor seemed to relax a bit, he continued. “The news is concerning, however, if not extremely coincidental. It would be best to look into. That being said, do not allow me to keep you.”

  
The hedge mage stepped to the side politely, leaving a wide space before them so that there would be no possible way for them to collide once more. Orion cleared his throat, releasing his hair and tipping in his head.

  
“Right. I’m sorry again, Solas - for running into you, quite literally. I should’ve been paying more attention.”

  
“There’s no need, Orion,” the bald mage told him. He couldn’t help the warmth that spread through him that Solas had heeded what he’d said the night before about using his name. “Besides. . .,” he smiled slyly. “I’m glad I caught you, after all.”

  
The inquisitor narrowed his dark eyes, trying desperately to keep his face from contorting into a smile.

  
“Ha, ha,” he responded slowly. “I had no idea you were capable of making jokes. How refreshing, to know your old age hasn’t absorbed any semblance of good humor.”

Solas beamed at that, eyes dancing. It was with it Orion noticed they appeared more grey; it was peculiar. Perhaps he’d mistaken their color before.

  
“You behave as though you are so much younger than I am; it leaves me wondering if perhaps you really are a child.”

  
“It sounds to me like you’re filled with envy, wishing your face was that of a rose,” Orion told him haughtily, repeating the apostate’s very words from the night prior.

  
“I think it would be fair to point out that anyone would wish to look the way you did,” his companion pointed out. “You are not easily unnoticed.”

  
The inquisitor swallowed heavily, struggling to keep his hands from reaching up and tearing off his steadily reddening ears. Why he reacted like this in front of Solas was something he struggled to understand, and growing to despise. He felt like a doe-eyed halla.

  
“I shouldn’t waste anymore time,” he finally managed, wanting to escape and recover. Clearly, his skin wouldn’t return to it’s normal color with Solas present. “I will see you later, if I find time. You did invite me to visit you more, after all.”

  
Not willing to wait for a response even if it appeared rude, Orion retreated, hoping at least the last of what he’d said had come out nonchalant. He also prayed that the tingling up his back was due to remnants of embarrassment, refusing to believe it was because the apostate watching him depart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew that one was admittedly rough to write. I tried not to follow the cut scene where the inquisitor meets Hawke TO closely, but it was difficult. I did my best to change up the dialogue, seeing as I didn't want to copy and paste. Sorry if this one was a little boring to read. It was, however, necessary to get to the things I want to.  
> More to come soon; plz leave comments if you feel so inclined I like hearing what people think


	3. Deceiver

“The journey to Crestwood shouldn’t take longer than a few days,” Cullen pointed out, hands folded neatly across his chest as he gazed around the room carefully. “We shouldn’t have any issues handling things while you’re away.”

“You trust Hawke, then?,” Orion asked his advisors, the large table sprawled before him putting distance between everyone.

The broad, blond-haired war commander frowned, eyes narrowing just so. “Of course. He saved the entirety of Kirkwall years ago. Do you not?”

The mage shrugged one shoulder, once more feeling ridiculous for voicing his suspicions for the second time that day. Shifting to one foot uncomfortably, he drew his gaze upwards towards the ceiling.

“I know how it sounds. It’s just in light of everything that’s happened, the timing seems odd.”

“While you may feel that way,” Leliana spoke up suddenly, voice unnaturally smooth as it always seemed to be. Orion glanced in her direction, catching a glimpse of her hair. Red strands fell across the pale skin of her forehead briefly, just before she swept them back again. “You must remind yourself who and what were dealing with. Just because Haven did not go as planned doesn’t mean Corypheus has any intention of slowing down.”

“In fact, his defeat likely served as all the more reason to move things along,” Josephine added, waving her feather pen. “We are a legitimate threat now; I have no doubt he’ll take whatever means possible to stop us from interfering again.”

“Which makes it all the more necessary you find Hawke’s contact as soon as possible,” Cullen agreed. “We understand your precaution; in fact, it’s not unwise. If for some reason this isn’t what it’s made to be, you’ll have backup. We’ll be prepared this time.”

The inquisitor knew that Cullen wasn’t referring only to the mission to Crestwood. There was no telling, but he’d had the suspicion for some days now that the attack on Haven weighed on the man’s mind quite heavily. The commander made a good point, however; it wasn’t as though he would be travelling with the champion of Kirkwall alone. Which was another matter entirely; choosing who to bring with him, and who to stay.

As if she could read his mind, Leliana spoke up once again.

“It would be wise to decide who you bring on your journey now, Inquisitor. As soon as we’re done here, I’ll be sending my scouts ahead with Harding to Crestwood to set up a camp there.”

“I would like to travel with those that have been with us since the beginning for this particular mission,” Orion started, giving each of them a look. “I feel Varric is a given. I would have Solas with us as well. As for my warrior. . .”

They all gazed at him expectantly.

The former apostate shrugged, biting his lip before continuing. “While I look forward to traveling with Iron Bull and Blackwall in the future, I would prefer to bring Cassandra on this mission.”

He watched the expressions on his advisors faces turn to discomfort. Leliana shifted her eyes towards the ground, a frown lightly tugging at her delicate brows. Cullen stepped back from the table, hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck as he looked everywhere but directly at Orion. Josephine feigned a newfound interest in her notes, feathered pen hovering above the page as she seemed to search for something to write down. The dark-haired mage drew his lips into a thin line, not appreciating their behavior in the slightest. He trusted Cassandra considerably more so than some of his newer companions, and had no intention of bringing along anyone else for his brawler other than her. Folding his arms over his chest, he cleared his throat expectantly, willing to wait as long as it took for the answer to a question he knew he didn’t need to ask aloud.

“Inquisitor,” Josephine said warily, a light laugh following. “Perhaps you should consider bringing one of the others on this  _ particular _ mission. 

“And why exactly is that?,” Orion snapped, wincing at the sharpness of his tone. He couldn’t help the frustration - what was the point in being elusive about this? If there was an issue, he wanted to be made aware of it.

Leliana moved to speak first, raising a hand as though to stay the inquisitor’s sudden temper. “When this whole thing began, Cassandra and I had interrogated Varric. We had good reason to believe he had information on Hawke’s whereabouts; however, he claimed he had none. I see now it was foolish to believe him.”

The spymaster made a face at the realization, once again returning to her light frowning. Her eyes shifted to a spot somewhere behind Orion’s head.

“I still don’t understand; why does that matter? What did you need Hawke for?”

“Hawke has experience in. . .well, situations like the one we find ourselves in now,” Cullen told him, seeming apologetic for what he was about to say next. “It seemed best at the time to seek out someone we felt was capable of handling the breach. Not to suggest, of course, that you are not. We’re very fortunate to have you.”

The elven mage felt unexpected rise of disgust in that moment; of course they had. Being an elf meant proving himself in ways others would never be expected; he shouldn’t have been surprised by Cullen’s admittance. Of course they had looked to their own kind first. _ How typical of humans _ , he thought bitterly, aware of how immature it was. At the very least he didn’t voice what he thought. Perhaps the bitterness was stemming from his exhaustion.

“In any case, we suspect Cassandra won’t be happy to know she was fooled. She is proud, after all,” Josephine added.

“All the more reason that I tell her, then,” Orion said, returning his tone to one that was polite.

“Are you sure that’s wise?,” Cullen asked him. “You do know it’s likely she’ll try to kill him. It’s not as though they got along particularly well before.”

“That doesn’t matter to me,” the inquisitor said, before realizing how that statement sounded. “I mean, of course I care about Varric’s life. But she deserves to know firsthand; she’ll find out eventually, and I think she deserves more than to hear it indirectly. Besides, I stand by what I said. I want her to come with me.”

“Shall I send out my scouts, then?,” Leliana asked. “Harding should be informed as well, so she can set out ahead of your party.’

Orion nodded, which seemed to be all his spymaster needed. Bowing her head to the others, she clasped her hands carefully behind her back before exiting the war room without another word.

“While you handle Cassandra, Inquisitor, I will let the others know whats going on. Those who won’t be joining you, that is. I think you can handle gathering your party members on your own.”

Tossing him a smile he assumed was supposed to be encouraging, Josephine took her leave next, golden skirts catching the torch light on the walls as she retreated. Orion signed and turned to Cullen expectantly, wondering what he would add before their meeting officially came to a close.

“While you’re away, I’ll focus efforts on repairs to Skyhold. Even with its position, it’s still vulnerable in some ways. Besides, the main hall is a mess. We can hardly call ourselves an operation with the way things are looking right now,” the blond chuckled, earning a small smile from the mage.

“May I ask you something, Cullen?”

Two gold-flecked irises regarded him curiously. “Of course, Inquisitor.”

“The events at Haven, do they -”

“Bother me? Significantly. I can’t stand to think about the lives we lost. It’s hard not to feel that we were careless, assuming the problem was so easily solved. But it is done. We can only focus on protecting ourselves more carefully this time around.”

Orion was surprised by the steadiness of the commander’s voice, for his eyes were swimming with emotion. He supposed it wouldn’t be fair to press the issue further; it wasn’t likely he was someone to admit weakness or pain in front of their leader.

“There’s no one else I’d trust with the task of keeping us safe,” he responded, bowing his head respectfully towards the blond, who appeared surprised. Orion withheld from rolling his eyes, once again reminded they’d all seemed to forget no more than three months ago he’d been nothing but a Dalish elf in their eyes.

“I’ll let you all know before we take our leave for Crestwood. I shouldn’t wait any longer to find Cassandra.”

Cullen nodded in agreement, smiling at the mage. “Good luck, Inquisitor.”

 

-

 

“Bastard,” Cassandra hissed, taking the tavern’s steps two at time. Orion struggled behind, trying to reason with the Seeker. Five minutes ago, her strong features had appeared light; reminding him why he enjoyed her presence so. He felt like a complete moron now; had he really expected the conversation to go well? Even with their budding friendship, this was Cassandra of all people.

“Cassandra, please wait -,” the inquisitor pleaded as they reached the top of the stairs, fully aware it was to late when he caught a glimpse of that familiar red ponytail.

The dark-haired woman before him shot forward, years of being an experienced fighter aiding her speed. With one hand, she tossed the table separating her from the dwarf to the side as though it weighed less than air. Varric attempted to dive to the side, but even the rogue wasn’t quick enough to dodge her rage.

Hands catching the low collar of his shirt, she slammed him against the railing overlooking the bottom floor of the tavern.

“You bastard,” she spat, shoving him back a second time. Orion couldn’t see her face, and was glad for it. As lovely as she was, Cassandra’s face contorting in anger was nothing short of intimidating. “You knew! You knew where Hawke was the entire time!”

Varric reached up and snatched her hands, forcing her back with a considerable amount of his own strength. The ginger caught Orion’s chocolate eyes over her shoulder, throwing him an accusatory look.

“Of course I knew!,” he shot back, looking back towards the Seeker. Cassandra raised a hand in the air, obviously intent on hitting him. As her fist came swinging down, their dwarven companion jumped out of the way, letting out a jeering laugh as he did so. Why did he have to egg her on even now?

“You captured me - took me in against my will! What did you think was going to happen?”

When Cassandra lunged forward again, Orion stepped in; wiry arm slipping around her waist just in time. Surprise registered across her angry face as she struggled to get away, scowling at the mage.

“Release me! How can you side with him, knowing what he’s done?,” she cried, though she’d stopped trying to get away for the moment.

“I’m not siding with  _ anyone _ ; there are no sides to take. We’re not children. Please, will you calm yourself?”

Resignedly, the seeker forced herself to relax visibly, seeming to know it was the only way Orion would let go. Stepping away from her, he glanced between the pair as they glowered at one another, ready to intervene the second they inevitably tried to rip into one another’s throats.

“We needed someone to lead us - someone with experience. The inquisition, all of Thedas. Leliana helped me search for the hero of Fereldan, but she’d long since disappeared. We find you, and you lead us to believe the same had happened the champion of Kirkwall. I should’ve known you were lying, you little shit.”

“You got what you wanted without him; what do you care? And he’s joined us now,” Varric exclaimed, jabbing a finger in Orion’s direction.

“Hawke could have prevented the events at the Conclave. Of course, that wouldn’t matter to you, you son of a -”

“Enough,” Orion commanded, growing tired of the bickering rapidly. Turning to Cassandra when she scowled at him again, he gave her a pleading look. “The Conclave was out of anyone’s control. You know that.”

“That does not change the fact we could have used Hawke’s help after,” she pointed out, turning to give Varric a disgusted look. “You are a liar, and you care nothing for the Inquisition.”

“Bullshit,” the dwarf spat in return. “We’re on the same side, and you know it.”

“We can’t change what’s happened,” Orion interjected. “And we can’t afford to fight amongst ourselves, not now.”

Cassandra considered that, before giving the inquisitor a slow nod of agreement. Giving Varric a final look that could make a child cry, she turned away, muttering under her breath and leaning over the railing. When he heard Varric let out a sound of triumph, he whirled around, frowning.

“I assume you had a good reason for lying?,” he inquired, not wanting to take  _ appear _ to take a side, even if he believed there was none.

“Yeah, I did. He’s my friend, and he’s been dragged through enough shit for one lifetime. Things wouldn’t have been any different; he would’ve died like everyone else, except you. Perhaps you’ll understand someday when you care about someone enough, Dalish.”

Orion let the last comment slide, knowing his dwarven friend only said it out of anger. Sighing, he ran a hand down the side of his face before closing his eyes and nodding. It seemed fair enough, and seeing how much time had passed, there was little that could be done now. Perhaps he would feel differently had he met one of them before the Temple of Ashes fell, but that wasn’t the case. But that didn’t keep a part of him from wanting to defend Cassandra’s feelings as well.

“Fine, then,” he nodded. “But see that in the future you keep nothing else from us. From  _ any _ of us.”

Varric raised both hands, palms facing his leader sheepishly. “Alright, alright. I get it. It won’t happen again; not that it has  _ since _ , anyhow.”

Glancing back at Cassandra, Orion swallowed, taking note of her absolute silence. Jerking his head in the dwarf’s direction without looking away, he asked him to leave. The warrior said nothing as they were left alone, not even when the inquisitor came to stand by her side. Tentatively, he reached up and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. She stiffened briefly, as though she expected something bad to happen, before relaxing under his gentle touch.

“He lied to us,” she started suddenly, catching him off guard. “He told us whatever story he pleased, and I believed him. I should have tried harder, to make him understand the situation we were in, but I failed to even do that. I failed to explain  _ why _ we needed Hawke, and for that I am a fool.”

“Don’t do that,” Orion admonished. “You couldn’t have -”

“It’s unlikely Hawke would have even agreed to become our leader; not with the way he supported the mage rebellion in the past. There’s no chance he would have trusted me. But this really isn’t about either of them; it is about me.”

“I should’ve known better. Acted smarter, more carefully. But I didn’t. I do not. . .,” Cassandra sighed, her shoulders sagging as though the weight of the world had suddenly fallen upon them. “I do not feel I deserve to be here.”

All too suddenly, he was reminded of the conversation he’d had with Cullen not long before. It hadn’t occurred to him how many members of the inquisition felt as though they had failed due to everything that happened. The lives lost weighed heavily on them all, and suddenly he felt selfish for not thinking of those around him.

“We’ve all made mistakes,” he told her, gazing down below them. “Please don’t speak that way. For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. You’ve done more than enough to prove yourself.”

Cassandra gave a short laugh, but she sounded less pained than she had moments ago.

“I know nothing. But, for whatever reason, the Maker sent us you in place of the others. I’m glad for it.”

She finally turned to smile at him, reminding him why he enjoyed her so. Cassandra was someone he felt at ease with; funny, considering how intimidating he’d found her back when they’d first met. Though he’d discovered through talking with her she was a lot. . .gentler than others would think. It just took time to see.

“I know you’re upset, but I would like you to accompany us to Crestwood. If you can handle being around Varric, that is.”

The warrior let out a steady breath through her nose, closing her eyes for a brief moment before opening them again. “Of course I will. My loyalty to you will not be swayed by his insolence.”

Orion let out a soft chuckle, finding himself relieved. “I’m glad. I’m sorry, for upsetting you. But I figured you would want to hear about this directly. It seemed right.

“I appreciate it, Inquisitor,” she began, stopping when the taller of the pair let out a groan. Frowning in confusion, she blinked at him. “Inquisitor?”

“It has proven to be a taxing day; I’ll admit, I’m exhausted, and I still need to let Varric know he’ll be joining us on the journey to Crestwood, along with Solas. So please, humor me, and just call me Orion. I can’t bear it if all of you only refer to me that way,” he explained dramatically, tugging his braid.

The brunette warrior let out a genuine laugh at his complaints, shaking her head. “I’m afraid I cannot do that, Herald. Friend or not, I must respect you by using your proper titles. Bear it.”

The inquisitor moaned again, dropping his head into both hands, peeking at her only through a space between his index and middle finger. “You’re all going to be the death of me. Before nightfall arrives I’ll have impaled myself on my staff.”

“See that you wait until we finish with Corypheus, at the very least,” his companion implored. “If you will excuse me, Herald, I would like to go and read for awhile. It helps me calm down.”

Unable to stop himself from reminding her of their interaction not too long ago, he asked “You mean those books Varric writes?”

Orion let out a yelp, just barely dipping down as Cassandra’s fist came soaring in his direction. Letting out a surprised laugh, the mage danced down the steps of the tavern, the bard’s song below reaching his ears. Waving at her lazily, he grinned. “I’ll be taking my leave now. Be ready to head out at dawn.”

 

-

 

Hunting down Varric took a considerable amount of time; Orion guessed it had something to do with being an experienced rogue. He’d resorted to asking some the inquisition soldiers, one of which were able to inform him of the dwarf’s location. Clambering up a flight of steps while wondering if he’d ever stop climbing them that day, Orion found himself in one the abandoned rooms within the battlements. Late afternoon sunlight leaked in through broken planks of wood nailed over the sprawling windows as he pushed open the door, catching sight of Varric leaning against the far wall.

Releasing the heavy oak door, he allowed it to slowly click closed behind him, eyeing the crossbow beside the other male’s feet. Clearing his throat when Varric failed to acknowledge his presence, he strode across the room to a broken painting on the wall. It clung there for dear life; faded with age. Orion could make out a ship m on the sea detailed within it; torn sails being carried by a darkened sky held by a storm.

“So,” he said finally, raising an obsidian brow towards his companion. “No gratitude for convincing Cassandra to spare your life?”

Varric let out a snort in reponse, arms folded over his chest.

“She has calmed down,” Orion told him. “You know, I was having issues trusting Hawke. Finding out you lied to her does not help my concerns. While I understand your reasoning, I do wish you hadn’t been dishonest.”

“Look, I get it, alright? I told them everything I thought would help them at the time, really. It wasn’t about lying just for the sake of it.”

“This may seem stupid to you; after all, you’re a mage. The unnatural isn’t weird to you. But I keep hoping all this bullshit will just stop, that this is just some trick from the Fade.” Pushing off the wall, Varric scooped up his crossbow, slinging it over one shoulder.

“It won’t happen again, Orion. Believe it or not, I do give a shit about what happens to the world.”

Orion reminded himself, for what felt like the thousandth time, that so far Varric had been nothing but loyal to them. It was fair to assume whether he’d been made aware of his lie or not would have little to no effect on that fact.

“Good,” the inquisitor shot back with a satisfied smile. “With that taken care of, let’s get to why I’m here. I figured you’d insist anyways, but I want you to come along on the expedition to Crestwood. You’re the only one familiar with Hawke, it seems only fitting you travel with us.”

“Well, you said it yourself. It’s not exactly like I’d let you leave me behind anyways.”

  
  


-

 

Night had fallen long before Orion was able to make his way to Solas’ room. After the afternoon he’d spent dealing with his companions argument, and making preparations for their journey the next day, he’d barely had enough energy to make it to the tavern to finally eat. He couldn’t help but be grateful for the blacksmith that had talked his ear off the entire time; otherwise he was convinced he would’ve fallen asleep face-first in his soup.

There were only a few small clusters of nobles and such lingering in the main hall as he descended down from his quarters. Elegant glasses of dark wine were clenched in a refined hand here or there, lazy smiles plastered to faces concealed behind silverette masks. Orion briefly wondered why the majority of them felt the need to treat Skyhold like a neverending masquerade ball. Walking past one of the groups, he narrowly missed being bumped into by a noblewoman; her shrill laugh ringing in the air as wine flew from her glass.

Wrinkling his nose in distaste, the inquisitor quickened his pace until he found himself before Solas’ door. He considered knocking, but after the day he’d had, he wasn’t in the mood to for good manners. Pushing the wooden entrance open quietly, he slipped inside, grateful for the noise of the highborn people in his hall disappearing behind him. Orion felt his heartbeat pickup when he didn’t catch sight of the apostate from his place in the small archway that opened up to the rest of the room.

Swallowing, he stepped forward silently, surprised the torches on the walls still burned so fiercely. Turning his head to the right, his eyes fell on the expanse of Solas’ back. The mage stood up on a ladder, unaware of his presence. His arm moved elegantly, a brush held between his fingers. Orion caught sight of a large black figure in the painting before turning away, feeling somewhat mischievous. He blamed it on the fact that Solas seemed oblivious to the fact he was there. Smiling to himself, he made sure to walk carefully forward on the balls of his feet, until he was beside the ladder.

Kneeling beside it, he scooped up one of the paint brushes that were unused, as though he meant to begin painting himself. Wordlessly, he stepped in front of the wooden structure, now in full view of Solas and able to see what he was working on. The painting detailed a large wolf; it’s fur darker than coal, with multiple, crimson eyes decorating it’s face. Because of his position under where Solas painted, a stray drop fell to his cheek.

“Eerie,” he commented, not looking behind him to see the hedge mage’s reaction, or moving to wipe the paint from his skin. “I thought you were painting for the inquisition?”

“I am,” Solas answered, tone suggesting he knew something Orion did not. “I didn’t hear you enter. I see you’re taking advantage of my invitation as means to sneak up on me, then?”

Orion smiled, glad his face wasn’t visible. “Unhappy to see me?”

“Never.”

Hearing the ladder creak, the shorter of the pair turned at last, watching Solas descend from the ladder with care. Leaning down, he snatched a rag, wiping his paint stained hands off on it while regarding the herald directly.

“I have never seen your hair down.”

If not for the day he’d had, Orion would’ve cared enough to disguise his blush from his fellow mage rather than display it openly. “But you have painted it.”

“So I have. But it is nice to see in the flesh. I assumed you always tied it back.”

“For practicality, yes,” Orion agreed. “I can’t exactly have all of this flying about while we’re fighting. But I couldn’t bear sleeping with it braided. I suppose you wouldn’t know; you have no hair.”

“So I don’t,” Solas smiled. “But I have before. Perhaps when I was your age? I cannot remember. . .it was so very,  _ very  _ long ago.”

Stifling a laugh, Orion tossed the paintbrush he still held towards the ladder, watching it clatter to the floor. “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m not here to listen to stories about your youth. Perhaps we can do that another time.”

“About Crestwood - I wanted to ask if you would come with us. I’ve already asked Cassandra and Varric.”

“I’m flattered you’re asking; after all, you could very well order me to follow you. You are the Herald of Andraste,” Solas told him, walking to his desk and sitting on the chair behind it. Orion strode forward until he was standing before it, a candle on its surface casting shadows over their faces.

“But yes, I would go with you. I must admit, I’m eager to see what information regarding the Wardens waits for us. It should prove to be an interesting turn of events.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Orion mused, fingers drawing over the surface of the desk. He caught Solas’ grey eyes watching them intently, something unknown reflecting within them. Drawing back carefully, he tried not to succumb to nervousness as Solas’ gaze didn’t waver, following his hands as he compulsively reached for his loose hair.

“Everyone seems shaken by the events at Haven. I hadn’t realized just how many it affected until today,” the inquisitor said suddenly. “Has it done the same to you?”

Truly, he wondered if anything got to Solas. He seemed so perfectly reigned in; exercising a control Orion flailed to have over himself. But he knew it wouldn’t be appropriate to ask; he already suspected he was prying.

“I don’t think shaken would be the proper way of putting it. Surprised? Without question. But this is war; I expected lives to be lost as soon as the Breach appeared.”

“I see,” the younger mage replied, unsure what to add. He didn’t find Solas heartless for his answer. After all, the hedge mage always seemed removed from everyone around him. It had been pointless to even ask, he decided.

“I can say, however,” Solas spoke up again, “I was relieved you survived.”

Orion’s breath caught in his throat, head flying up to look into Solas’ eyes. His companion was regarding him intently, expression unreadable. Finding himself unnerved, he let out a casual laugh, waving his left hand. 

“Why wouldn’t you be? Our situation would likely be lost without the mark.”

The apostate let out a sigh, shaking his head and pushing the chair back to stand again. He fixed the inquisitor with a direct gaze. Orion felt his pulse harden in his throat, the sound resonating in his ears as the older mage leaned forward a bit, palms bracing flat against the surface that separated them. When they were this close, he could feel Solas’ breath dancing across his face.

“That isn’t what I’m referring to. Yes, the mark is important. But I am relieved  _ you _ survived.”

Ignoring his racing heart, Orion rolled his eyes, leaning forward just a sliver. They were so close; he was praying to the Maker, if he existed, Solas couldn’t hear the way his heart betrayed him. “Of course you are. Who else is going to put you in your place when you speak ill of my people?”

The mage facing him smiled at that, shaking his head and looking off to the side, a soft sigh passing through his nose.

“Yes, where would I be without your infallible wit?”

The younger elf swallowed hard, suddenly feeling as though he’d said the wrong thing. Why did it always seem to end up this way when they were alone? He wasn’t the sort to question himself; in fact, he never did anything he did in the hedge mage’s presence regularly. Was it his fault? After all, he’d never. . .been attracted to anyone in this way before. It felt foreign to even admit to himself he  _ was _ attracted to him. How was he supposed to understand it? He’d lived a large portion of his life enslaved; romantic relations were practically forbidden. Even after that part of his life had ended, he’d never thought he would be with anyone.

And then there was the issue of Solas being, well. . .Solas. His elder companion was like a neverending, uncharted sea. He had absolutely no idea where to begin.

Taking a quivering breath, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around one of Solas’ wrists. The apostate blinked at him in surprise before looking down at their hands, then back to Orion’s face. The herald smiled weakly, hoping this wasn’t a mistake.

“I’m glad I survived as well. I’m glad. . . _ we _ survived.”

It appeared, for once, Solas didn’t know what to do, a fact that both satisfied and shocked the inquisitor. The other mage’s lips parted, as though he were going to say something, but nothing came out. Looking down again, Solas very tentatively moved his free hand. With it, he used his fingers to graze the inside of Orion’s wrist, watching the contrast of their skin in the candlelight.

The inquisitor gave a sharp inhale as fire exploded beneath his flesh, head suddenly feeling lighter than air. His heartbeat was screaming; it felt as though the sound was roaring in his ears. He didn’t even realize the apostate’s fingers shifted, gently running them through the ends of Orion’s hair.

Only when Solas’ hand reached his actual face did he come back to the present. The hedge mage’s thumb drew across the line of his cheekbone carefully; wiping the paint that stained it away. 

       Orion wanted to disappear when he shivered. He was afraid what he might do if they remained so close in proximity. Without warning, he broke away from Solas, face burning more fiercely than any flame his own magic could produce. His companion looked confused, and he wasn’t sure who the confusion was directed towards, for the elder elf stared at his hand like it wasn’t his own.

“I -,” Orion started, voice sounding foreign to his own ears. He shook his head roughly, hair swaying with the motion. What was  _ wrong _ with him?

“I- I’m sorry. I - tomorrow. We have to leave at dawn tomorrow, for Crestwood.”

Without daring to look up, he started towards the door. Catching Solas moving towards him, he quickened his pace, but it was to no avail. For the second night in a row, Solas caught his upper arm firmly, holding him in place.

“Wait,” he pleaded. It was uncharacteristic, and Orion was tempted to turn around, but shame kept him from him meeting the apostate’s eyes. Silence hung between them for what felt like ages, until Solas finally released his hold on the inquisitor.

Clearing his throat, he stepped back from the shorter mage. “Goodnight then, Orion.”

“Goodnight.”

The response was hardly more than whisper as the herald shot out the door, hoping a demon would take him in the Fade while he slept. Climbing the stairs to his own bedroom, he couldn’t shake the relief the day had finally ended. Nor could he stop his attention from being drawn to flesh that still tingled from Solas’ touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well its 3 AM and I'm posting this. I'm tired, ignore any mistakes here. Please leave feedback, its always encouraging! Also I apologize for any mistakes in the work; I do my own editing and though I go back through what I write several times to make corrections, its hard sometimes to catch your own mistakes. So know if you read the chapter early on to when its posted and there's a remnant mistake it will likely be fixed within 48 hours or so.
> 
> Also I hope I'm still staying true to Solas' character. I worry he was a little bold here, but I try to remind myself he does respond to romantic interaction when the other person initiates it. Idk. Thoughts????  
> I almost had them kiss in the chapter, had to stop myself. Far too early for that lmao


	4. Distances

Orion let out a huff of annoyance, fingers curled around his staff tightly. Varric and Hawke were late; all the other members of their party stood ready, breath visible due to the bitter, early morning cold. The inquisitor had half a mind to smack the dwarf on sight as he shivered himself, the thin material of his long sleeves doing nothing to protect him from the bite of air. He cursed himself, wishing he’d asked Harritt for something different than the midnight robes that clung tightly to his narrow frame, the only armored pieces on him being the black leather bracers and boots.

The elf parted his lips, ready to announce they’d set off on their own before a cheery greeting interrupted him. Varric rounded the corner with his crossbow slung over his shoulder, a casual, lopsided smirk decorating his face. Orion narrowed his eyes as the dwarf joined them, blinking up at the herald innocently.

“You’re late,” Orion remarked. “Where is Hawke?”

Varric shrugged one shoulder. “No idea. Probably in Crestwood now; he changed his mind about coming along. He decided it was better to get a headstart.”

“Is that true?,” Cassandra asked suddenly, arms crossed over her breastplate. Her words cut like a knife; clearly, the events from the previous day weren’t so easily forgotten. “Or did he run back into hiding again with your help?”

Though his expression masked it, the inquisitor didn’t miss the flash in the red-headed dwarf’s eyes at her words.

“He just wanted to get a headstart. Not everyone is afraid of you,  _ Seeker _ .”

The warrior took a step forward, her face darkening. Before the situation could escalate, Solas stepped between them, reminding everyone of his presence. 

“Perhaps we should move out,” he suggested, tapping his own staff against the ground once. “We have already lost time as it is.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Orion agreed, though he refused to really look in the apostate’s direction. Their own interaction from the night before still had him reeling. Without waiting for the other pair’s agreement, the herald started toward the gates of Skyhold, which opened for him immediately.

There, a few agents of the inquisition stood, holding reigns of each member’s mounts in their hands. Orion smiled, quickening his pace until he stood before his hart. The beast blew air through it’s nose at his approach, stomping a hoof against the bridge beneath them. The inquisitor’s smile broadened, his dark eyes drawing over the large creature with happiness. They had stumbled across it by chance; a Pride of Arlathan is what Master Dennet had referred to it as. They were incredibly uncommon; the horse master hadn’t seen one in person before, which had made the inquisitor all the more pleased they’d found him along their journey to Skyhold.

“Aneth ara, my friend,” he murmured, running a hand down the hart’s neck gently. With confidence, he hoisted himself up onto it’s back, delight swirling through him as there wasn’t a sound of protest from the creature. There had never been any sort of conditioning needed for his hart; it had always been willing to let him ride it. Strange as it was to him, he felt deeply connected to his mount, often wondering if his being elven had anything to do with it.

“Why couldn’t we just walk?,” Varric complained from his own mount; a standard Fereldan Forder.

“Because,” Orion started, smiling sweetly in his direction once before turning the reigns and leading them towards the path that led out of Skyhold. “Crestwood is far from here; we haven’t the time to walk the entire way with the threat of Corypheus over us. I’ll thank you not to complain further, Master Tethras.”

Ignoring the scoff from his dwarven friend, Orion slipped his staff into it’s holding place across his back. Bracing himself for the sting of the wind, he squeezed his hart’s sides with his legs once. The subtle gesture was practically undetectable, but his mount responded dutifully, starting forward at a gentle trot before picking up speed into a full run just as the last gate closing off the mountains opened for the inquisitor’s party.

His dark braid flew back behind him as they ran, snow flying up around the mounts feet as their party moved down the mountain side. Orion felt like giddy child, tilting his chin back toward the sky as they moved. His stomach was in his throat as they made their way downward, finding the knowledge that it was dangerous simply delicious. He could try his whole life and never achieve such a speed; he imagined this was what flying felt like.

He earned a curious look from Cassandra as he let out a laugh; the sound breathless and light. Releasing the reigns with both hands, he stretched his arms out from sides, his flesh prickling with the sting of the air. Had it not been rushing so loudly in his ears, he would’ve caught the warning from his companions to not be so reckless when they were racing down the snowy side of the mountain.

When they finally reached more stable ground, he allowed his hart to slow, though it showed no visible signs of tiring. Orion patted it’s shoulder, heart pounding in his chest. It was sudden, but he felt the desire to keep running, all the way to Crestwood. It was simply exhilarating to move so quickly; he made a mental note to take up riding for enjoyment more often when this was all over.

Now that air wasn’t the only noise registering in his ears, the inquisitor focused on the crunch of the snow under them as they inched closer to the edge of what he considered Skyhold’s territory. A forest lay ahead in the distance; the golden grass stretched before it’s start sudden against the cool landscape they currently found themselves in. Already, he was itching to reach their destination, despite knowing it would take two to three days at the very least.

“You could warn us next time before taking off like that,” Varric huffed, breaking him out of his thoughts. As Orion looked over his shoulder, he was able to catch sight of Solas turning to smile at the dwarf. Seeing he was distracted, the darker skinned elf seized the opportunity to admire him. He’d always been fond of the armor the hedge mage chose for himself; something about the white robes and fur draping across his body seemed fitting.

“And why is that, Varric? Are you incapable of keeping up?,” Solas inquired, grey eyes dancing.

The redhead let out yet another snort, rolling his eyes. “This is coming from the one who fell behind all of us?”

“That was by choice,” the mage admonished, raising one brow. “After all,  _ I _ seem to have no trouble holding on.”

Orion looked back and forth between them, warmed by the banter. Remnants of the high from tearing down the mountainside were still fresh in his mind, so he couldn’t seem to stop himself from interjecting. “Perhaps we should have a race, then.”

At that, everyone looked at him in surprise. Raising a hand carefully, he tugged his braid, refusing to allow the embarrassment that was trying to come forward seep in. “What, is it not a good idea?”

“I, for one, am game. Chuckles here deserves to be knocked down a peg or two,” Varric said, earning a smile from the herald.

“I expected as much from you,” the pyromage told him in return, before eyeing the other two expectantly.

“Perhaps that’s not such a good idea,” Solas started. “After all, we are on a mission. . .”

“Oh,  _ hahren _ ,” Orion sighed immediately, batting his eyes in a way that combated the challenge swirling within them. “I might’ve guessed you would say no. Perhaps the concept of fun is lost to you now that so many years have passed.”

A burst of pleasure exploded in his chest as the apostate eyed him knowingly, a smile tugging at his lips. Shaking his bald head, Solas looked to the sky, refusing to give in with his expression.

“It would appear you are giving me no choice but to put you in your place, da’len,” the elder mage agreed.

Grinning, the inquisitor finally looked to Cassandra. Her expression was disapproving; mouth drawn into a thin line. She hadn’t seemed pleased since they’d gathered that morning, which gave him all the more incentive to persuade her into partaking in their game.

“We do not have time for such childish things,” she sniffed, straightening her back. “We are on a mission, as Solas pointed out, Herald. This is not to be taken lightly.”

“You sound like you’re afraid of losing to Varric,” Orion shot back offhandedly, knowing full well it was a cheap blow. “Besides, it’s not a bad idea when you really consider it. We  _ do  _ need to make good time; running for a large part of it will only aid us in getting there faster.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes, speaking firmly. “No.”

“Suit yourself then.” Tossing his braid back, the inquisitor shrugged at his friend. Glancing once more at the other two, he let a mischievous smile take his lips. “Let’s keep it simple. We run as long as we can, and the one to stay in the lead for the longest, wins. Fair enough?”

“You’re going to regret this, Princess,” Varric told him, tightening his grip on his set of reigns.

Solas seemed to consider his words before speaking.

“Fen’Harel ma ghiliana,” he told him, giving a mysterious smile.

“Fen’Harel las mir enasalin,” Orion shot back, before giving Cassandra a final glance. “You will undoubtedly despise me for this, but I have to point out: participating in our race or not, unless you expect to fall behind, you’re going to have to keep up with the rest of us children.”

Turning away so she wouldn’t see the laugh forming at her scowl, Orion gave his hart the signal to start forward without warning the others, ignoring Varric’s shout that he was a cheater.

 

-

 

Gold streaks of light from the setting sun warmed Orion’s back, eliciting a sigh from him. They were nearing the edge of the forest and approaching vacant, open plains. The race they’d engaged in had lasted a good hour or so at least; the inquisitor had been shocked when Solas had won. However, the excitement from their race quickly turned sour when the mounts ended up exerted and unable to continue on. They’d ended up having to stop by a stream in the forest for quite awhile; the whole ordeal had left Cassandra particularly upset. She’d given him quite the earful about it while they’d eaten, pointing out they likely would have gained more ground had they not exhausted the mounts. Since they’d set out again, she hadn’t said a word to anyone, the air hanging around them bitter.

Orion currently brought up the rear of their party, his eyes trained on the warrior’s stiff back. Now that things were settling and the sun was leaving the sky, he felt incredibly stupid for his childish antics - for upsetting the seeker for the second day in a row. Granted, the situation with Varric hadn’t been his fault, but he felt he should’ve known better. In fact, thinking back on it, he wondered why he’d suggested the race in the first place. It had been reckless; and had only ended up setting their journey back. He imagined they could have taken the forest in half the time if they hadn’t torn through part of it and needed to rest. He sighed again, this time the sound loud enough to catch Solas’ attention.

Wordlessly, the hedge mage allowed his own red hart to slow, falling into place beside Orion’s mount. Figuring he would have something to say, the inquisitor allowed their pace to slow even further, until Varric and Cassandra were out of earshot.

“You seem troubled,” Solas commented, eyes remaining trained forward.

“I just feel foolish,” Orion frowned. “I should’ve listened to Cassandra - we lost time because I wanted to play games.”

“Your behavior was. . .well, unexpected. You are not usually so expressive; I’ve never seen you behave so carefree.”

“That is a kind way of saying I was being immature,” the herald sniffed. “Don’t misunderstand - it wasn’t completely uncharacteristic. I suppose it would appear so because of our situation; this whole thing leaves little time for lightheartedness. In that moment, I think I just missed the feeling of being free from worry. It started with the running; it’s just that it feels like flying. It was enthralling. I just wanted to keep feeling that way, even for a little while. Stupid, right?”

He gave Solas a small smile, who had finally turned to look at him. He stared back at the apostate as the elder elf eyed him carefully, relieved for one he wasn’t shying away under his gaze.

“It was, as you suggested, fun,” Solas finally said. “It may have put us back, and admittedly, it was foolish. But you aren’t the only one at fault; we all entertained it. Besides, I did win. Have I earned a prize?”

The hedge mage regarded him so seriously Orion couldn’t help but laugh, earning a quick glance over the shoulder from Varric. “A prize? What is it you think would be worthy of your victory?”

“May I have time to consider it?”

“Take all the time you’d like,” the dark-haired elf told him. “There is little I have to give, so I can’t imagine what it is you’ll request.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Solas replied, which caused him to blush at last. And here he’d been, thinking he’d manage one day without under the elder mage’s influence. “There is a clearing ahead. Perhaps it’d be best to stop and make camp for the evening?”

Orion realized dusk had fallen; the first stars appearing above them. Shaking his head, he called out to the others, letting them know they were going to stop for the night. The clearing Solas mentioned was wide, hills rising around them on all sides. It was a reassuring sign; there was little chance of anything or anyone ambushing them in the night.

Stepping down from his hart, he grabbed the pack attached to it’s saddle in suit, before bringing both off to the side to join the other mounts. After removing reigns and all from the majestic beast, he ran a hand down it’s side once, promising not to overwork it again the following day. Turning away once the hart began to graze with it’s companions, he moved to join his own.

Varric was setting up the wood they’d gathered from the forest earlier in the day, arranging it so it would give enough warmth to the party without attracting any unwanted attention. Even out in the middle of seemingly nowhere, there was no telling what lingered about. Not with the breach, and so many fade rifts scattered across Thedas.

When his dwarven friend pulled away, Orion stretched out his mark-free hand, watching a small ball of coiling flames leave his palm and ignite the wood. Varric let out a whistle, watching the now-burning fire lick at the air, embers dancing toward the black sky. The inquisitor flashed him a tired smile, assuming the noise was meant to be sign of praise.

There was no telling how much time had passed before everyone had a bedroll out; silence would have surrounded them if Varric hadn’t had the habit of snoring. As soon as he’d laid down, the dwarf had fallen fast asleep. Orion sat with his knees drawn under his chin, switching from staring intently at the fire to staring at Cassandra. She was off to his left, studying the map they’d brought along, likely projecting how much longer their journey would be. He’d been spending an incredible amount of time wracking his brain on how to approach her, and apologize for earlier. Solas sat poised on his other side, a book laid in his lap that he appeared to be lost in.

“You needn’t be so wary,” Cassandra said suddenly, not looking up from the charts before her. Had he been so obvious? “Contrary to popular belief, I am not unapproachable.”

“I know you aren’t.” Orion stood, moving to sit beside the seeker without asking permission. When she still didn’t look up, he continued. “I am sorry for today, you know. You were right; I was foolish not to listen to you.”

“So you were.”

The elven mage couldn’t help but wince at the bite in her voice, rubbing the side of his neck in embarrassment. The brunette woman shifted in suit, folding the map in her hands and turning her head just a bit to eye him.

“Fortunately, it seems today has had little effect on our mission. We will arrive in two days time, like we initially thought. So perhaps I was wrong to lecture you so.”

Orion waved a hand. “No, you weren’t. I should take this seriously; it wasn’t responsible to wear the mounts out like that. I was being selfish; I can admit that. I wanted to have fun.”

“For what it is worth, riding that way is enjoyable, Inquisitor. I would be happy to do so with you - just not on important expeditions such as this.”

“I’ll have to take you up on that when we get home,” Orion smiled, then realized what he’d just said. Home? “I mean - to Skyhold.”

“You do not consider Skyhold your home?,” Cassandra inquired, picking up an idle stick before them and stoking the fire with it.

“Do you?,” he quipped gently. “Sure, it is the home of our inquisition. But it’s only temporary, right? I’m sure everyone has places they want to go back to when this is all over with.”

“It is hard to say. Truthfully, Herald, I believe the good we can do will not end with Corypheus. But I don’t think that’s something we need to concern ourselves with now.”

“But still,” Orion pressed, “People will want to leave. Won’t you?”

The seeker looked curious then; turning her eyes toward the skies above. It occurred to him then he didn’t know much about Cassandra past the inquisition’s start. Now seemed as good a time as any to find out more about her.

“It will depend. Once our fight with Corypheus has ended, the issue of appointing a new 

Divine will become more pressing. I suspect that will influence what I choose to do. But for now, yes, I suppose Skyhold is my home. But as I said, it is not something we should concern ourselves with now. We must win the battle before considering what will happen after.”

Orion cast a secretive glance in Solas’ direction, who was paying them no mind, and found he disagreed. It seemed perfectly reasonable to consider; after all, they were all drawn to this fight in order to save the world. It seemed natural to wonder what would happen if they won it.

“Before this, would you have returned to serve the Chantry?”

Cassandra sighed, giving him a disapproving look, though seeming to acknowledge he wasn’t going to let the discussion end so quickly. “I suppose so, yes. It is not as though I would have much elsewhere to go. I gave up my life of nobility very young, and the only person I would have cared enough to go back to is gone.”

Her words raised many questions; nobility? He supposed it wasn’t impossible, but with her overall nature, he never would have guessed she was of noble birth. Not that it mattered to him; he was born a slave, and an elven one at that. Briefly, he wondered what she would think of it.

“Who. . .would you have gone back to?,” he asked hesitantly.

“My brother, Anthony. But it does not matter; he is not here. I have no desire to speak of my past tonight, Inquisitor.”

Orion nodded in understanding, not needing any more explanation on that. Though he was curious of the nature of her brother’s death, he knew better than to ask. The pain in her eyes let him know all he needed, and in that moment, he felt he understood her better than anyone. Those eyes were the same that stared back at him when he regarded his reflection while thinking about his mother.

“Perhaps you’ll fall in love, then,” he said suddenly, driving them away from the quickly decaying mood. He gestured dramatically before them, as if paint a picture. “Just think of it - someone sweeps you off your feet while the world is crumbling all around us. Wouldn’t that be romantic?”

Cassandra let out a sound that appeared to be a mixture between a snort and a laugh, but her brown eyes looked more at ease. “Fall in love? Are you mad?”

“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here,” he pointed out dryly. “Is it so out of the question for our Seeker to fall in love?”

“Most people are afraid of me,” the warrior said. “Something tells me it is highly unlikely a man would attempt to court me amidst war.”

“It could happen,” the inquisitor huffed, frowning at her. “Don’t speak of yourself as though you’re unworthy of something like that. You’re a lovely person, and you know it.”

Cassandra let out a laugh; reminding him once more that beyond her hard exterior, she had a soft side. It was easy to forget when he was being berated by her. Though she appeared to laughing at him, her expression had grown progressively warmer, letting him know he’d succeeded in lightening the mood.

“I fear this conversation has shifted beyond me, Herald. It appears you are insulted on my behalf; and here I was thinking you were initially making a jest,” she chuckled. “I appreciate the thought, though.”

“Anyways, I am quite tired. If you have nothing more you wish to speak of, I would like to sleep.” Cassandra stood, moving towards her bedroll. Once she reached out, Orion called out to her before she settled completely.

“I’m sorry again for today, really. It won’t happen again,” he promised. His companion flashed him a tired smile, nodding.

“See that it doesn’t, Herald.”

Reassured that all was forgiven at last, the inquisitor stood and moved toward his own resting place. Before reaching it, he wondered how it had gotten so close to Solas’; he didn’t recall placing it there originally. It didn’t matter now, though; it was far too late for him to care enough to move it. Settling down with his legs crossed, he glanced at the elder mage, who’d stopped reading to acknowledge his arrival.

“Is it any good?,” he asked flippantly, hands moving toward his hair. He tried to appear unaware of the other elf’s eyes watching as they pulled the tie that held his braid throughout the day, tanned fingers tugging it lose with practiced ease.

“You could say that,” the apostate replied, gently closing the book in his hands. “It appears all is well with Lady Cassandra.”

“Yes,” Orion smiled, hands making quick work up towards the back of his neck. His thick hair was falling loose around his shoulders with each yank as he unwove it; the strands melded into waves from being tied back for hours.

He didn’t bother to say more, instead choosing to remain content with the comfortable silence that lay between them. Strangely, it felt almost intimate - or at least, what he imagined intimacy to be like - to have the elder mage gazing at him so earnestly as he undid his hair. Solas had clearly indicated he enjoyed seeing the inquisitor’s hair down; he was happy the apostate was witnessing the strands unfolding before him.

Once he was finished and his hair fell all around him, he smiled at Solas again, feeling the same tug of longing he had the night before. He wasn’t willing to pay it mind; if he did, there was no telling what he would do, and he couldn’t risk that. Especially seeing as there was nowhere to run now.

“Do you find it strange we don’t speak elven more often?,” he asked, knowing it was sudden. “Imagine; the other’s would never have any idea what we were saying.”

_ Ever the conversationalist. You sound like a fucking airheaded child. _

Solas smiled, raising a brow and tilting his head curiously. “You imply we should have secret conversations?”

Orion blushed, glancing away. “No. I realize now how ridiculous that sounded.”

“Not as much as you’d think. I suppose it is because we live in a world where the common tongue of human’s is generally expected. That we do not speak elven much, that is.”

“Does that not ever bother you?”

“What exactly are you referring to?,” Solas asked.

“I don’t know; perhaps your previous statement? You’re not bothered at all by the lack of - well, elven things in general. Our people have lost so much. One day it feels as though we’ll lose our language too. You and I conversed in the common tongue when we first met; without even thinking about it.”

“I see your point. Though nothing I could say would help - we have lost much, most of which currently isn’t possible to regain.”

“It’s not fair.” The statement was immature; he knew it, but Orion couldn’t help the bitterness in his tone. His time living with his clan had taught him many things he’d not known, and even now, it was hard not feel resentful towards everything his people had endured. He often wondered if he’d ever have been a slave had history not inflicted such severe wounds on the elven people.

“No, it is not. But perhaps, one day, things will change. Have faith, lethallin.”

There was something about the way Solas said that; as if he knew his words were true, as opposed to an offer of comfort. Orion regarded him carefully, searching his face as if it would reveal something. He knew it shouldn’t have been a surprise to find the elder mage’s expression exposed nothing. Still, he was grateful for the words anyways.

“Ma melava halani.”

His companion smiled, reaching out and tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. Orion felt his skin burn behind it where Solas’ fingertips had grazed his flesh. He felt the urge to run his own over the same spot, but found himself worried it would make the feeling disappear.

“You look tired, Inquisitor -”

Without hesitation, the herald reached out and pressed a hand to the other mage’s lips, trying to ignore how soft they felt resting against his palm. Clearing his throat, he met Solas’ confused gaze boldly.

“I told you, it’s Orion. I don’t want to be called ‘inquisitor’. Am I being clear? I don’t want to be called that, Solas. Not by. . .”

_ You? _

Letting the silence hang between them instead of continuing, he let his hand drop. Crossing his arms over his chest in order to keep them from moving with a mind of their own, he waited expectantly. 

For a second time, Solas seemed unsure what to do. He glanced at the hand Orion had touched him with, then down as though to catch sight of his own lips; as if the inquisitor had left something there. Clearing his throat, the apostate folded his hands in his lap. “Ir alebas. It’s merely out of habit. Are you not concerned about what referring to you so familiarly may cause others to think?”

“Are you?,” Orion asked, hating himself for the spike of hurt at the thought that rose within him.

“I. . .no. I simply do not wish to behave as though my position is higher than the other’s.”

“That’s not what this is about,” Orion told him, frustrated suddenly. Why was Solas reducing their relationship to that of the inquisition? Was that all it was? If that was the case, he felt incredibly stupid.

“Can we please treat each other how we would if this wasn’t happening?” Orion gestured, hair swaying gently. “This will sound foolish but frankly I don’t have the patience to care. I want you to view me as Orion, not as the inquisitor. Just like I view you as Solas, not a member of my inquisition.”

The hedge mage’s eyes were intent as he listened, fingers woven together in his lap. The gaze was somewhat relieving, considering what the herald had just admitted to.

“You wish to regard one another without the precaution of our situation? That is what you want, truly?”

There was something about the way Solas asked; Orion felt it wasn’t just the inquisition he was referring to. But he didn’t want to press the matter or find out what exactly his companion meant. He just wanted them to be closer, even if it terrified him.

“ _ Yes _ ,” he breathed.

Solas seemed to contemplate that, searching Orion’s face for any flicker of doubt. When he found none, he nodded slowly, hands unfolding themselves. “Alright, then.”

Reaching out once again, he moved strands of ebony away from the inquisitor’s face. “As I was saying before, Orion. You look tired. We should sleep now.”

“Yes.”

Despite his agreement, they spent quite a while longer like that; Solas gently moving strands of hair away from Orion’s face while he sat still beneath elder mage’s touch. Even though they’d agreed to let precautions go, it was clear there were many bridges left to burn. Neither moved closer, the same safe distance that always seemed present between them remaining. It wasn’t until his eyes began to fall closed on their own did Orion pull away, falling back onto his bedroll with his skin tingling, asking himself what the hell he was doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of the elven bits:  
> Aneth ara - usually used between Dalish clan members, just a friendly way of greeting another  
> Hahren - literally just means 'elder', a term of respect for those higher than yourself  
> Da'len - little child/little one  
> Fen'Harel ma ghilana - "Dread Wolf guides you." You're being led astray/misguided  
> Fen'Harel las mir enasalin - this is a phrase of my own construction; it's likely not correct but it's supposed to roughly translate to "The Dread Wolf grants my victory."  
> Lethallin - reference for someone who is familiar, this particular spelling being for male elves  
> Ma melava halani - "You helped me."  
> Ir alebas - I'm sorry / I am sorry  
> ;  
> I promise the next chapter will include more of canon story, in case that bothers anyone. But ah, yeah, let me know what you think? Work has been kicking my ass, hopefully the next update won't take two whole weeks again, ugh.


	5. The Calling

Thunder exploded across the sky, the sound unlike any storm Orion had ever witnessed. Raindrops fell from the sky rapidly, kissing his face along with the rest of his party’s. Strands of hair that escaped his braid stuck to his skin uncomfortably; he couldn’t help but gaze in Solas’ direction enviously, as he didn’t suffer the same problem.

“What a miserable place,” Cassandra pointed out as they made their way down the path into Crestwood. The brunette scowled upward, cursing under her breath.

The inquisitor had to agree. Since they’d reached the edge of Crestwood’s territory, there had been nothing but poor weather. Accompanying it was the uncomfortable air around them; something hadn’t felt right since they’d arrived. The mounts hadn’t calmed, only growing more skittish the closer they drew to the town. They’d had to leave them at a camp on the outskirts, all four beasts refusing to move in any further.

Admittedly, Orion was unsettled; he shared the animal’s unease as he glanced around them. It seemed they’d finally reached the edge of town, but the thought did little to comfort him. Hardly anyone was lingering outside, and the few that were cast weary glances in his party’s direction from their place near the lake’s edge. Up ahead, the herald thought he caught sight of a walking corpse; giving him a start. But when he leaned forward in an attempt to get a better look, whatever he’d thought he’d seen was gone. 

Must have been the rain.

“What a warm welcome,” Varric pointed out sarcastically, shaking a particularly large clump of mud from his boot.

“It is probably best that our presence is acknowledged very little,” Solas pointed out. “It would cause issues otherwise, I’m sure.”

Orion parted his lips to agree, but was halted at the sight of Scout Harding up ahead. Shaking off his surprise at the sight of her, he picked up the pace to meet her, figuring he should’ve known she would arrive before them. She always managed to.

“It’s good to see you safe, Inquisitor,” Harding greeted as they closed the distance between them. Her voice was warm, but Orion knew she would have news that would likely change that in a moment's time.

“Scout Harding.” The herald gave her a short bow in return, causing a snort to erupt from Varric’s direction. He resisted the urge to scowl over his shoulder, instead focusing on the dwarf in front of him.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that; after all, I’m the one who answers to you. There’s no need to be so formal to someone like me.”  
Orion felt the tips of his ears warm with embarrassment, unable to explain that such formality was habit, even years after his days of being enslaved. Clearing his throat, he adjusted his grip on his staff, choosing not to acknowledge her words. When it became obvious to her an answer wouldn’t come, she sighed and continued.

“We’ve got trouble ahead.” Without waiting for an answer this time, Harding gestured to their right. Orion followed her off the path, eyes remaining on her hand as it extended outwards to point off into the distance. Even with the downpour, he could clearly make out the mass of green swirling over the lake stretching miles away from them ahead. Though it was far, he could easily tell it was likely rift magic causing the strange, smoky veridian haze.

“Crestwood was the site of a flood ten years ago during The Blight. That’s not the only rift in this area, but after it appeared, corpses starting walking out of the water. If you want to get to Ser Hawke’s Grey Warden friend, you’ll have to fight through them to reach him. He’s located in a cave a few miles in from here.”

“Thank you for the warning. Make sure you stay safe; we’ll return soon.” The words felt strange in his mouth: almost disingenuous, but Orion knew there wasn’t any time to waste. Giving her a small smile, he turned back to his party. They were no more than a few feet behind; by their grim expressions, he figured they’d caught the entire conversation.

“Let’s go,” he told them, tightening his grip on his staff once more and pushing ahead. Grassy cliffs rose up on both sides of them as moved forward along the road, which was lit by small fires aligning the walls on either side of the path. The terrain steadily lead them upwards, coming as a surprise to Orion, though he figured it made sense the land was at a higher altitude when the lake was taken into consideration.

“Herald.”

Cassandra’s voice drew his attention, causing him to glance over his shoulder at her. The warrior was unsheathing her sword, shield at the ready in the other. “Up ahead.”

Swallowing, he turned back to face forward, bracing himself as he finally caught what she’d been focused on. On the small cobblestone bridge that gave way into the town at last, were at least a dozen corpses. Various weapons hung from their seemingly limp hands, their mouths agape and skin like aged leather. There was nothing but empty hollows in place of their eyes. Even as lifeless as they looked, sauntering about, Orion knew the danger they presented.

As they pressed closer, one of the undead finally caught wind of them. Armed with a bow, it sprung into action; as if it had regained life itself. A shiver of disgust made its way down the inquisitor’s back as it swiveled to face them, pulling an arrow from the many secured to it’s back and positioning to shoot one between Solas’ eyes.

It’s chance never came; with a loud cry, Cassandra shot forward, sword raised. Meanwhile, in the corner of his eye, Orion saw Varric seeking higher ground, no doubt to begin raining arrows down on the restless undead in their path. This was familiar; wordlessly, he and Solas shared a look, Solas’ silver hues glimmering with strength. The hedge mage gave him a firm nod before directing his attention forward, casting a barrier over Cassandra. Meanwhile, Orion set one over them, unable to help himself. Even if they were to remain back out of the heat of the conflict, it made him nervous to leave his companion open to potential fire.

The corpses stood little chance against the four of them, despite almost doubling in number. They were lifeless, after all; Orion assumed it left them with little intelligence. He swung his staff expertly, fire leaving it’s tip in the shape of phoenixs. A wave of satisfaction came over him as one flew straight through one of the corpse’s heads; obliterating it and leaving the rest of it’s body to drop to the ground. He returned Solas’ impressed smile as the apostate maneuvered his fade magic, crushing a trio of the hollow beings with a solidified fist of magic; finishing off the last of them.

Everyone moved forward to join Cassandra on the bridge, who was shaking off dark liquid from her blade. Orion regarded with mild curiosity, wondering how the undead managed to have blood. Though he supposed it didn’t matter; it still smelled of rot. Stepping agily over bodies scattered across the ground, he gave his warrior a nod.

“Well done, as always. You hardly leave any for the rest of us.” His words were teasing, but he knew she appreciated the underlying sincerity.

“Though your eagerness for battle is admirable, Herald, it is best you were kept from it as much as possible when they are as meaningless as this one. You’re too important to our cause,” she told him. Orion was a little shocked at her response; she didn’t truly believe he would sit back like an invalid while his party risked their lives, did she?

He wanted to ask her, but there wasn’t a chance to. His attention was drawn to words being carried in their direction by the wind. Glancing up, he registered three figures up ahead of them. One appeared to be a villager, while the other two were clad in armor that registered as familiar.

“Grey Wardens,” he murmured under his breath as his group approached them. The Wardens both appeared to be male - they were reassuring a Dalish woman, perhaps a few years younger than Orion himself. As they closed the distance between them, the elf was sent on her way back to the village, the pair before her deeming the roads unsafe for it’s inhabitants. Turning to him, both the Warden’s eyes appeared warm as they regarded his party.

“Many thanks for your help back there, Inquisitor,” one said - another elf. Orion felt vaguely suspicious of them, wondering how they knew who he was. Nothing he or his companions had on bore the Inquisition’s symbol.

“Of course,” he returned diplomatically, noting the silent look Varric gave him. “What brings you to Crestwood?”

“A warden by the name of Stroud is wanted for questioning.” It was the other one who spoke this time. “We caught word he passed through here, but the villagers knew nothing. They have enough on their hands.”

“What has he done?,” Orion asked carefully, hoping he didn’t venture into dangerous territory with the question. He was uneasy over the fact other Wardens happened to be wandering about Crestwood as they arrived to meet with one. It felt far too coincidental.

“Warden-Commander Clarel ordered his capture. We cannot say more than that,” the elven Warden interjected, throwing his comrade a pointed look. “We hope he will come with us peacefully. I trained under him for a time; he is a good man, I’m sure of it.”

“I see,” the inquisitor mused, before stepping out of their way. “Do not let us keep you from your task.”

“Farewell.”

“They did not mention a new leader,” Solas said when the pair finally moved out of earshot. “Perhaps they’re not part of Corypheus’ plot to take control of the order?”

“Perhaps not,” Cassandra agreed. “The infiltration in their ranks may be smaller than we initially thought.”

“Whatever the case, the only person who can answer any of this is Hawke’s companion,” Orion told them. “We should move on; something isn’t right. The longer we stay here, the more uneasy I feel.”

At his admittance, everyone in the group shared a look. Though no one else voiced it, Orion was sure they felt the same way. Wordlessly, he started ahead once more, not wishing to lose any more time.

 

*

The rest of their journey went smoothly; not even a lingering corpse had stood in their path. In truth, Orion didn’t know whether or not the fact should have worried him. As they’d drawn further in, their path had only proven to lead them on a steady track upward. The hills had increased; grass and lush bushes of all kinds covering them. The inquisitor made note to send scouts back later on to come here to gather herbs for Skyhold.

“You’re surprisingly quiet,” he said suddenly, regarding Varric. “I would have figured you’d be complaining by now at the amount of climbing we’ve had to endure.”

The dwarf beside him let out a short laugh. “Normally, I would. But it’s like you said back there - something isn’t right with this place. The sooner we get this over with, the better.”

“I suppose then, it’s good sooner has arrived.”

Finally, the entrance to the cave came into view. It appeared to be man made; cut deep into the rock. A single torch shed light into the hollow opening, but there was no sign of Hawke. Orion felt his stomach twist nervously as they all ducked inside, finally freed of the rain. The torch’s fire didn’t illuminate much into the tunnel that now lay ahead, it’s edges lit by small clusters of deep mushrooms.

Swallowing, the inquisitor led the way, a sharp bend in the tunnel appearing sooner than he expected, and with it, the tease of light from yet another torch. While he wasn’t particularly afraid of the dark, he had no doubt a place like Crestwood had things lingering within it. He prefered they were able to see their way through this.

“Your friend is nowhere to be found,” Cassandra said, shooting an accusatory look in Varric’s direction. While he didn’t announce it, Orion couldn’t help but share her obvious suspicion they hadn’t caught a sign of Hawke as of yet.

“He’ll be here,” Varric retorted, not even bothering to glance in her direction. As though he were dodging out of conflict, the dwarf marched past everyone, taking up the lead. A snort erupted from their female companion, but she didn’t press the issue further.

As the tunnel twisted again, Orion wondered just how deep the cave reached. If Hawke had truly pulled through, then he supposed he understood the seclusion. But it could just as easily be an aid to someone plotting a trap. Just as he prepared himself to tell the other’s that, the tunnel changed direction again, immediately opening to a wider area. Across it lay a wooden wall reaching to the cave’s roof, with a door cut into it’s shape. And before it, was Hawke.

“Told you,” Varric sang, while Cassandra merely rolled her eyes. The herald let out a breath of relief, brushing away damp strands of hair from his forehead.

“Glad you all made it,” Hawke greeted them, before directing his attention to Orion. “He’s through here.”

The dark-haired elf frowned at Hawke’s cryptic behavior, not understanding why he seemed to have no intent of leading the way inside. It was his ally, after all. Deeming it better not to bother asking, while wanting to put on a brave face despite his suspicion, he stepped around the broad human and pushed the door open. It gave way to a wide room, filled only with various rocks and more torches aligning the walls, as well as a table pushed to the far back. Confused at the vacancy of the area, he turned around, prepared to demand what was going on and why there was no one here. But instead, he found himself facing a newcomer.

Another human; this one with dark hair and a thick mustache, his night-coloured eyes boring into Orion with hostility. Without hesitation, the Warden facing him drew his sword, the blade’s point just a hair from the inquisitor’s throat. Bristling, Orion willed fire to come forth to the peak of his staff, prepared to engulf the stranger in flames, and Hawke soon after.

“It’s just us.” Hawke’s voice reverberated throughout the room, putting a stop to rising tension. “I’ve brought the Inquisitor.”

The newcomer looked between his companion, and the elf at the surrender of his blade for a few moments before pulling back, sheathing his weapon once more. “My name is Stroud, and I am at your service, Inquisitor.”

“That is why you draw your blade?,” Orion responded dryly, withdrawing his magic. “Hawke said you have information, some of it regarding a common enemy we share.”

“Forgive me for being wary; there are those who seek me out for other reasons. I fear Corypheus seeks to destroy the Grey Wardens.”

“When my friend Hawke defeated him, Weisshaupt was more than pleased to put the matter to rest,” Stroud began. “But archdemons can survive wounds that appear fatal, and I suspected Corypheus posessed the same ability. I investigated the matter and found clues, but no proof. However, not long after, every Warden in Orlais began to hear the Calling.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?,” Hawke interrupted.

“It was a Grey Warden matter. I am bound by an oath of secrecy.”

“The Calling?,” Orion blinked, casting a glance at Solas. “What is that?”

“The Calling tells a Warden that the Blight will soon claim them. It begins with dreams, and soon after, the whispers in their head. The Warden then says their farewells, and descends to the deep roads to meet their death in combat.”

“And this what every Grey Warden is hearing now? They believe this, even though there is clearly no sign of blight?,” Orion asked.

“Yes,” Stroud told him solemnly. “Likely because of Corypheus. If the Wardens fall, there is no one to stand against the next Blight. It is our greatest fear.”

“But Corypheus isn’t controlling them; he’s only making them believe in this facade of a Calling, and they are falling for it,” Hawke said, arms folding over his chest as his face fell into a scowl.

“Can Corypheus even obtain such power?,” Solas interjected, raising one fine brow. “It seems a peculiar skill to possess.”

“I cannot say. Even as senior Warden, I had only heard vague mentions of him before. But it doesn’t matter; the wardens believe the Calling is real regardless, and they will act accordingly. That is certain.”

“Are you not affected?,” Orion asked suddenly, unable to conceal his suspicion even now. “If what you say is true, you very well should be.”

“Yes. It lingers in the shadows of my mind, but it is there nonetheless. We must uncover what Corypheus has done and end it - this cannot stand.”

“But how is this possible?,” the inquisitor asked, careful not to sound so accusatory. It was hard to swallow, and though he knew it was indeed possible, a part of him didn’t want to acknowledge Corypheus’ power could extend so far.

“I do not know, Inquisitor. There is little we know of him, other than he is dangerous. Being that he is both a magister and darkspawn, as well as being able to speak with the voice of the Blight - that lets him affect Warden minds. It would make the most sense, as we are tied to the Blight itself. It must be how he created this false calling.”

“So then, this means the Wardens are. . .desperate. Which I’m sure isn’t aiding the issue,” Cassandra chimed in, reminding everyone herself and the rest of the party were still present.

“We are the only ones who can slay archdemons; without us, the next Blight will consume the world. Warden-Commander Clarel spoke of a blood magic ritual to prevent future blights before we all perished. Naturally, I protested the plan and deemed it madness; causing my own comrades to turn on me. Grey Wardens are gathering here,” Stroud paused, walking over to the table behind him and pointing to a map of Thedas. “In the Western Approach. There is an ancient Tevinter ritual tower there. If you meet me, we will find answers.”

Without another word, the Grey Warden started towards the exit. Orion gaped at his back, shocked that he would just stroll away after a conversation that opened up more questions than answers.

“Wait!,” he called, causing Stroud to pause and look over his shoulder. “That. . .that’s it?”

“As I said, Inquisitor, there is still much I do not know. We will find answers in the Western Approach.” Giving everyone a nod, he turned once more and left, making it clear he had no intention of turning back.

Running a hand across his forehead in frustration, the herald turned to Hawke, who was easing his way toward to door. “And where are you going?”

“You heard what he said, Inquisitor. There isn’t any time to waste. As before, I’ll meet you all there - I’d rather Stroud didn’t travel alone.”

Silence descended over the room as Orion was left with his party members. Though it felt like they hadn’t gotten any further than when they’d started, his mind was still racing. This was the second time they’d stumbled across a group Corypheus was involved with. First, the mages and templars, and now the Grey Wardens. It left him wondering just how much their enemy was involved in, and what else he was plotting.

“Should we return to Skyhold, then?,” Cassandra asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Your advisors should be given this information immediately, Herald.”

Orion shook his head. “No. To double back there only to leave again would only waste our time. We’ll return to Harding and have her send a raven, then head for the Western Approach. This seems to serious an issue to bother getting second opinions on.”

“Good for you, Princess,” Varric grinned. “Taking charge.”

“Hardly,” Orion responded as they moved out of the cave, bracing himself for the sting of the rain on his face once more. “We just need to know what we’re dealing with, and if we return to Skyhold simply to share news, the situation could worsen.”

As Cassandra and Varric stepped out into the downpour, Solas hung back purposely. The inquisitor gave him questioning look before backtracking to his side, wondering why he hesitated. “Solas?”

“I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Warmth spread through Orion’s chest in spite of his thoughts over everything that had just occurred. Nodding, he tucked a strand of hair behind one pointed ear. “I’m fine - it’s only a lot to take in. It would be foolish now to not suspect Corypheus at having a hand in anything that is amiss.”

The apostate nodded in agreement. “He is powerful, and it would seem he is intent on gathering as many allies as he can. But I wouldn’t worry yourself - as his numbers grow, so do ours. And of course, we have a strong leader to guide us against him.”

For once, Orion didn’t mind the blush that took his cheeks, nor the smile that spread across the hedge mage’s face at the sight of it.

“I’m grateful you’re here, Solas. I feel at ease when you’re close.”

Something flashed in the taller elf’s eyes, but whatever it was disappeared as quickly as it had come. Clearing his throat, Solas drew one finger across Orion’s cheek; whipping away dampness he knew full well would return once they stepped outside again.

“And I am grateful you chose me as one of those you would have by your side.”

“For now,” the inquisitor sighed, enjoying the flash of worry that danced across his elder companion’s face. “If you continue to beat me at races, that may have to change.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holyyyyyy shit, finally an update after what, almost two months?? I don't know if anyone actually keeps up with this story or cares for it much, but I'm still glad to finally be able to update again. Hopefully I won't go so long without doing so again. Life got busy, long story short, plus I'm working hard at improving my art so time is slim. But I'm working it our.
> 
> I apologize for any mistakes. To be honest, I looked it over once for mistakes so I likely missed some and will go back later. I'm too eager to update to care at this point. Sorry this chapter was a little boring and frankly almost mirrored to in-game play. I tried, like in the chapter where Hawke first appears, to change things a bit. But it's difficult with stuff like this; this is essentially just a chapter made to move the plot along so I know it's not that entertaining and there's little Orion/Solas interaction butttt I think I spoil you guys with how much they interact anyways. Next chapter I plan to get the shit in the WA done and have the first cutscene with Solas AKA Solas and Orion will finally kiss. I don't plan to follow in-game play as often as I have been but I absolutely love Solas' first romance cut scene so really, I have to include it. Of course the dialogue will be changed to meet character needs but still yay !! First kiss !! And then right back to slow burn LMAO. It'll take awhile for these two to form a set relationship, because you know, it's fucking Solas. And Orion has his own issues that will come to light. But yeah uhhh comment?? Let me know what you think?? And if you want ways to keep up with me not on here I'm super active on Instagram/Twitter ( @hybrdbastard ) I love having people to talk about DA with, talk to me. Alright, it's 1 AM, I need to stop. Until next time.


	6. In Blood

Orion had been sorely mistaken when he’d deemed Crestwood’s weather conditions insufferable; in fact, he’d give a limb to be bathed in the cool rainfall that constantly fell from the haunted skies in this moment. He’d rather be anywhere than here; the heat that surrounded him made his skin crawl with discomfort. Each inhale allowed scorching air to singe his nostrils, making him believe there were embers dancing in his lungs. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of his neck, adhering to the dampness that caused the hairs there to stick to his flesh. Perhaps the only reprieve was that the cloth of his armor was lightweight, making it somewhat breathable as most of it clung tightly to him.

 

The young mage looked miserably ahead, eyes trained on the backs of his companions. Everyone else seemed to be fairing incredibly well, all things considered. It made him want to writhe with envy, as he seemed to be the only one affected. He knew well it was childish, but he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t even seem to keep pace with everyone. The heat itself made it so his steps were slowed; heavy with exertion from the burning air alone. His mind had been made the minute they arrived; any further missions in the Western Approach after this one would be handled by others. Nothing in the world could persuade him to return.

 

Finally seeming to take notice of his slowed gait, Cassandra paused, allowing the other’s to push past her and falling into step beside the inquisitor. Their mounts had once again been left on the perimeter of the lands at a camp; Solas had believed their size would draw too much attention to their arrival at the ritual tower. A mixture of sympathy and disapproval touched her amber irises, causing Orion to scowl at the ground wordlessly.

 

“A cloud hangs over your head,” she pointed out, the steel toes of her boots coated in sand-coloured dust.

 

“I dislike it here greatly,” he murmured in return, fighting the whine back from his tone. Just the idea of being tempted to behave so immaturely made him want Solas to crush his being with Fade magic.

 

“Apparently. I suppose our raven would have reached Skyhold by now,” she said. It was clear she was attempting to distract him, and though the heat made him both agitated and miserable, he appreciated it to a degree.

 

“Yes. Do you think the others will disapprove of my decision to move forward without consulting them?”

 

Cassandra looked thoughtful for a moment. “I can imagine so. However, you withhold the power to make the decisions regardless. They must respect there will be times when action must take priority over courtesy. It is as you said; we have little time. You made the right choice.”

 

“I’m glad you think so. In truth, it’s unnerving even with help to be. . .a person in charge.” Orion answered, though he felt his chest swell a bit with pride, pleased she approved. 

 

“A leader,” his sword-swinging friend corrected swiftly. “You have done exceptionally so far. Do not doubt yourself.”

 

The herald nodded in response, unsure what to say to that. He appreciated her confidence in him, naturally. He considered her his greatest friend in all this, respecting her opinion above all others other than one. It was only strange to hear such unwavering praise from another, especially when they were human. It was a feeling he was certain it was unlikely he would grow accustomed to.

 

“I have wanted to ask you,” she started again, drawing his attention back. “For quite some time now, actually. It is about your lost memories regarding the Conclave.”

 

“What about them?” Orion couldn’t help his blank tone. In truth, he hadn’t give the topic thought for quite a few weeks. Much had happened since, and no matter how hard he tried, it was useless to linger on, for the memories refused to resurface. He braced himself, knowing the disappointment that would befall Cassandra no matter what she asked regarding it.

 

“I suppose I merely wondered if you recalled anything. Perhaps about the Divine?”

 

At this point, Orion noticed the pair walking ahead of them had fallen silent, clearly catching wind of their conversation. He bit the inside of his cheek, wondering how to respond. He should’ve figured that was all she really cared about; after all, she held the recently deceased Divine quite dearly. He was sure it would make his answer all the worse.

 

“I can’t, Cassandra. I wish I could tell you what I knew, but whatever I know is lost to me for the time being. What happened in that room should have killed me with everyone else, but it did not. I imagine that has something to do with it.”

 

As uncomfortable silence  descended between them, he fiddled with his gloved hand, fingers closing to press against his concealed palm. He knew just beneath the leather, his mark glowed, an open wound that gave way to an eerie green that remained alight.

 

“You know,” Varric said suddenly, giving him a start. “I don’t think you ever told us why you were at the Conclave to begin with. Surely you remember that.”

 

Orion smiled a bit, casting his eyes pointedly into the distance when everyone turned their heads to gaze at him expectantly. “Of course I do.”

 

“I won’t presume you’re familiar with Dalish and their way of life,” he said, turning his gaze back directly to Varric teasingly, though he really meant to regard everyone. “So I’ll graze it over briefly.”

 

“All clans are differing in some way; though there are significant similarities between all. The largest being that our purpose is to preserve and restore lost knowledge of our people’s fallen kingdoms. These nomadic clans are lead by Keepers; I suppose most of you would view them as quite literal leaders but that is not the case, really. Their role is primarily conservation of the clan’s lore; without them, all would be lost. They are also usually one of two mages each clan possesses; the latter being their First. An apprentice, if you will, as well as the designated person to assume the role of leadership when the former is no longer able.”

 

“Anyways, clans are known largely for their isolation, particularly from humans. I doubt I will have to explain the reason for that.” Orion withheld his own wince from his tone, knowing he should be ashamed for allowing bitterness to shine through. However, a small part of him had little remorse, wanting the pain of his people to be acknowledged. 

 

“When my Keeper caught word of the Conclave, it was decided rather immediately that someone should be sent to it. I cannot say what her reasoning for that was, though I speculate it was to have someone be the voice for our own. She was rather forward in her thinking, in the idea that elven presence would go over well. Naturally, she couldn’t go herself, nor send the First; both play roles to important to the clan to risk losing. Fortunately for them, I was present.”

 

“Seeing as I was not born to Clan Lavellan, I am not considered essential to its survival, as I am not even a hunter. In fact, to another clan, I would possibly be considered a threat. It is not a commonly accepted practice to allow more than two mages to a clan. Besides that, I have magic abilities many do not in the case of Dalish. So, I volunteered myself readily; I owe my Keeper a great deal, after all.”

 

At that, his gaze travelled to meet Solas’ briefly. He couldn’t determine what lay within them, only that the apostate’s eyes were boring into him so fiercely it could burn. Orion swallowed unsurely, raising a hand to brush his braid over his shoulder so it would thump against his back with his gait.

 

“So what you’re saying is, you were a spy?,” Varric asked, a smirk taking up both sides of his mouth.

 

His own lips drew into a hard line. “Hardly. I had full intention to make myself known when I arrived.”

 

“Well?,” the dwarf laughed, “Did you?”

 

“That would be impossible for me to say, Master Tethras, for I don’t recall anything shortly after arriving to begin with.”

 

The inquisitor figured the ice in his tone implied the conversation was over with, as his dwarven friend turned back around. As did Solas, but not before giving him a long look over, one that caused his flesh to tingle. Clearing his throat, the elven mage turned back to Cassandra, curious as to what her reaction would be to his confession. Her expression was unreadable as she blinked at him.

 

“I wasn’t a spy,” he insisted, worried. She had been quite aggressive when they’d first met; for understandable reasons. He doubted Varric’s suggestion that he was an intruder would help his case with that particular issue, seeing as he couldn’t recall the entire event.

 

“Nor do I accuse you of being one,” the warrior replied. “But I do hope you recall something soon, Herald.”

 

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Solas said, though Orion was grateful the conversation was being halted. “But we are arriving at our destination.”

 

Before them, another sanded hill like the many others they’d crossed rose up. Just beyond it, was a bridge that began at the edge of the desert’s cliffs. It couldn’t be more than forty feet or so across; and beyond, was a much smaller rise of land holding a structure Orion knew was the ritual tower. They were a ways away, but he could still make out shapes he recognized as bodies scattered across it.

 

Instinctively, he reached back behind him, brown fingers closing around his staff. His companions followed in suit, arming themselves with their own weapons. Briefly, he wondered if Stroud and Hawke had already had a run in with the group that lay ahead.

 

“You don’t suppose they might be friendly, do you?,” Varric joked, crossbow settled against his shoulder with ease.

 

“No one is these days,” Cassandra said. 

 

Making their way over the hill took mere minutes; once past it, the inquisitor was able to see two other bodies standing at the foot of the bridge on either side, tucked away from sight of their presumed enemy. Orion breathed a sigh of relief, glad they still had the advantage of surprise with them.

 

“Took you long enough,” Hawke snapped as soon as they were in earshot, his broad jaw tense. Solas raised a brow in surprsie at his tone, but didn’t bother responding. Orion turned his attention to Stroud instead, who appeared equally as on edge, but recalled his manners.

 

“I am glad you made it, Inquisitor. I’m afraid they’ve already begun the ritual. It has to be blood magic; if we stop them, we may be able to keep more people from getting hurt.”

 

“You take point,” Hawke ordered. Were the situation different, the inquisitor would’ve had something to say in return to the human mage’s tone and presumption he could order everyone about. “I’ll guard your backs.”

 

Taking a breath instead, he nodded in return, starting forward over the bridge. Without question, his party members fell into step around him. Solas came to his side, his body so close the backs of their hands brushed every few strides. Varric and Cassandra moved right behind them, while Stroud and Hawke brought up the rear.

 

A mist the color of dying moss rose up in the air around the tower. Orion knew right away what could cause it, for it was a product of magic he was familiar with. A fade rift cracked above them, close overhead. A frown settled over his face as they reached the steps, taking them two at a time. Now that they were on site, the voices of their enemies were audible. One in particular rose out clearly, the timbre laced with fear.

 

“Wait. . .no!”

 

A Grey Warden with an expression of unmasked fear that was clear even with his hood up stood a few feet away from them as they reached the top, arms outstretched. A few others surrounded him, menacing grimaces decorating their own faces. Orion struggled to keep his expression neutral at the sight of demons and shades joining their ranks, wondering why they weren’t attacking the wardens. Scattered on the ground of the tower were piles of bodies, pools of dried blood the color of rust beneath them.

 

There was a man at the head of tower, his clothing making it clear he wasn’t part of the warden’s organization. White robes clung to his form, fitted with a high collar and patterns Orion recognized were a byproduct of only one place. He felt his stomach twist, tightening his grasp on his staff.

 

“He’s from Tevinter,” he whispered, knowing no one other than Solas caught his words.

 

“Warden-Commander Clarel’s orders were clear,” the man sneered, regarding the Grey Warden who still stood surrounded by others.

 

“This is wrong!,” the warden cried, hands coming to wring together before him. Orion was unsure what to do; was it wrong to stand back and do nothing? No one else made a move to help, and he found himself just as rigid, watching the scene unfold.

 

“Remember your oath,” the sinister man from Tevinter sang. “In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death. . .”

 

While the frightened Warden seemingly clung to the leader’s every word, another crept up quietly behind him. A blade glinted in the attacker’s hand, curved and poised to strike in the middle of his victim’s back. Before the man ahead finished his speech about their oaths, the man about to fall to his death turned to face the blond wielding the blade, who Orion assumed was once his comrade.

 

“I’m sorry,” the blond said, just as the Tevinter man called out the word ‘sacrifice’. The hooded warden’s eyes stretched wide briefly, before falling blank and rolling back as his body slumped to the ground. Blood splattered across the ground as he fell, spilling around his lifeless form as it landed on the tower floor. No more than a few beats passed before an inhuman screech erupted in the air, a rage demon manifesting right after it. The creature stood inches from the recently deceased warden, leering.

 

“Good,” the man from Tevinter purred, his tongue flicking out momentarily to draw over his lips. “Now bind it, just as I taught you.”

 

The order was given to the blond warden that had just slain his own comrade. Nodding in acknowledgement to his superior, he stretched out a hand towards the demon surrounded by flames of its own creation. A sputter of green magic moved around the man’s hand and wrist, before pushing outward to surround the creature. It continued to screech as it had before, making a move to attack the blond by abruptly surging forward. Just as it reached him, however, it slumped forward, crumpling in on itself and falling silent.

 

He hadn’t noticed it right away, but now that the light-haired male was turned somewhat toward his own group, Orion was able to catch a glimpse of his eyes. They glowed an eerie, stark red; reminding him of unnaturally bright fruit. His expression was blank, confirming what Orion suspected; he was under a spell.

 

“Inquisitor.”

 

Orion snapped to attention from the call, turning his attention back to the man from Tevinter. There was an impossibly smug way about his face that made the elven mage desire to burn it entirely off. Setting his jaw, he strode forward until they were only a few feet apart, wondering how this stranger could possibly know who he was on sight.

 

“What an unexpected surprise. Lord Livus Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service.” 

 

_ A magister; how fitting.  _ The herald watched silently as the mage in question gave a dramatic bow, revealing a shock of dark hair that was pulled and set securely at the back of his head. As he straightened, he gave Orion and his companions an expectant look, as though he believed they would return the courtesy. When it was clear he would be waiting awhile for that time to come, he parted his lips to speak again, just as Stroud pushed forward through everyone.

 

“You are no warden,” he ground out, his body language openly revealing his hostility to match his tone.

 

“But you are,” Erimond sighed dramatically, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear that escaped its tie. “You must be the one Clarel let slip. And you found the inquisitor and came to what? Stop me? Shall we see how that goes?”

 

“It would appear you’re making our task rather easy by cutting down your own allies,” Orion finally said, coming forward to stand by Stroud’s side.

 

“What, him?,” Erimond asked incredulously, gesturing toward the dead warden on the ground. “Ha! We simply needed his  _ blood _ .”

 

Narrowing his eyes, the magister focused his attention solely on Stroud, a smirk turning up the left side of his mouth. “Were you hoping to garner sympathy? Perhaps make your fellow wardens feel a bit of remorse?”

 

His words were a clear jab, sung out mockingly. Orion watched as his companion stiffened, worry passing through his mind. He hardly knew Stroud, so there was no way to tell how he would react to the other man’s words. He simply prayed he would keep a level head.

 

“Wardens!,” the Tevinter magister bellowed suddenly. “Hands up! Hands down!”

 

As he spoke, Erimond moved his own body in succession with the commands. With him, the wardens followed in suit, their attention fully given to the mage before them. The inquisitor clenched his teeth in frustration; they were too late. Corypehus had control of their minds. Already, he knew they needed to leave and return to Skyhold to plan their next move in how to deal with this. This was a lost cause.

 

“They did this to themselves,” Erimond called, as though he knew what Orion was thinking simply by looking at him. “You see, the Calling had the wardens terrified. They looked everywhere for help.”

 

“Even Tevinter,” Stroud spat.

 

“Yes. And since it was my master who put the Calling in their little heads, we in the Venatori were prepared.” Pausing, Erimond made a face that reminded Orion of the children in clan Lavellan when they lost their favorite toy. “I went to Clarel full of sympathy, and together, we came up with a plan. Raise a demon army, march into the deep roads, and kill the Old Gods before they wake.”

 

The true plan was clear as the magister before them unveiled it. The inquisitor found himself in somewhat disbelief that the wardens had been so. . .foolish. He understood their draw to the plan, but it was so plainly obvious it was just that - a plan, one that would never work. They had equipped Corypheus with a demon army of his own; just one more thing they would have to fight through to get to the true enemy.

 

“Sadly, for the Wardens, the binding ritual I taught their mages has a side effect. They are now my master’s slaves. This was merely a test; once the rest of the Warden’s complete the ritual, the army will conquer Thedas.”

 

Orion’s dark eyes lit up, a smile falling across his face. Where he’d felt despair moments before, he now felt hope. The army had yet to come into existence! Despite the mistakes made by Stroud’s companions, they weren’t too late. All that had to be done was stop the main ritual from taking place, and they would obliviate yet another one of Corypheus’ tools.

 

“Thank you for that useful bit of information,” Orion replied, tilting his head to the side innocently.

 

“Oh, please,” Erimond sneered, eyes shining with new anger. Moving one arm outward, he summoned forth a burst of red magic that swirled around his open palm in tendrils, along with the rest of his upper arm. With it, a fierce burn erupted in the hand that held Orion’s mark. Air hissed through his teeth as he bent forward with the sudden pain, grabbing at it with his other hand.

 

“The Elder One showed me how to deal with you, in the event you should interfere again. That mark you bear? The anchor that allows you to pass safely through the veil?” As he spoke, the sting in Orion’s hand increased, making his head feel light. Gasping, he fell forward to his knees; he’d forgotten the strength that came with Tevinter magister’s magic. “You stole that from my master. He’s been forced to seek other ways to enter the Fade.”

 

Squeezing his eyes closed, Orion attempted to center himself. The feeling that his flesh was falling away with the pain had started to shift up his arm, but he couldn’t focus on it. He racked his brain, trying to figure out how Erimond was capable of this. He couldn’t possibly have control over the mark itself; it was a part of  _ his _ body. Opening his eyes once again, he glanced above them, where the fade rift still shifted reality. Swallowing, he willed himself to stand, fingers of his stable hand pulling his glove off the other. There was no telling it would help, but there wasn’t much else he could think to do.

 

Righting himself, the elven mage extended his arm toward the sky, his mark facing the rift. The sensation was hard to describe; it was almost as if the mark had a mind of its own. Orion didn’t even need to think about what he needed to do; the strange abrasion seemed to know. With a familiar hiss, the rift in the sky began sewing itself back together, bright green magic that seemed to flow like glowing string moving into his hand. Erimond snarled, his own magic appearing to strength again. The inquisitor felt tears prick his eyes, black dots appearing in his vision. Pain like this shouldn’t have been possible.

 

“When I bring you his head,” the magister yelled, “his gratitude will be -”

 

His words were cut off as Orion inhaled, his marked palm feeling swollen and ready to burst. But he knew all it meant was that the rift could be closed. With sureness, he snapped his arm back, fingers closing his hand into a fist. And with it, the rift disappeared with a gust of wind, the force of it sending Erimond onto his back while everyone else stumbled. Orion let out a gasp of relief as the pain his arm disappeared, tears forming again with the sensation of being freed.

 

“Elven filth,” Erimond spat, struggling to push himself up from the ground. Once he upright, the magister swept his gaze over his mindless followers, a hand clutching his stomach. “Kill them!”

 

There was no time to think as a shade lunged forward at Orion’s side. The mage attempted to dance out of it’s way, but not before a trio of claws tore through the fabric covering his forearm. He stumbled from the blow, thankful he retained enough agility to keep from falling to the ground. The shade was still too close, leaving no time to cast a spell. Instead, he summoned forth his blade of flames; an ability that had taken him months to learn.

 

The shade let out a bloodcurdling scream as he shoved the sword through its middle, pulling away quickly so it’s body wouldn’t fall over his own. On his right, Cassandra fought alongside Stroud; the pair clashing with a trio of wardens. Another caught sight of him standing still, seizing the opportunity to attack. The hollow soldier raised his blade as he drew near, while Orion raised his own, prepared to defend himself.

 

Just as the warden reached a point that would allow him to strike, an arrow landed between his brow. The red glow that reached his eyes disappeared, sword clattering to the ground as the restored human fell dead to the ground, blood foaming around his gaping mouth. Orion looked over his shoulder, catching sight of Varric loading more arrows into his crossbow.

 

“Move out of the way your Majesty!,” he shouted, landing another arrow through a shade’s head behind. Nodding in a state that almost felt like confusion, Orion turned away, seeking out a point that would give him room to cast spells properly, just as Solas appeared at his side.

 

“Come,” the apostate ordered breathlessly, grabbing his wrist and leading him out of the fray. He was fully aware he looked as empty-headed as their enemies, but he couldn't seem to help it. Like an obedient child, he allowed the hedge mage to pull him away, until they were near the peak of the towers steps. Orion shifted his weight, prepared to pull away and begin casting spells, but Solas’ grip tightened.

 

He frowned at his fellow mage, eyes silently asking why he wouldn’t let go. But Solas wasn’t even paying him any mind; instead, his silver hues were cast downward. Following his gaze, Orion found his own arm, which drenched in blood. The cloth that previously held together his midnight robes was shredded and hanging limply from the appendage. Three deep, jagged cuts marred the top his golden-brown flesh, stretching around to the underside of his arm.

 

“Are you alright?,” Solas asked him, finally looking up. They stared at one another silently for a few moments; Orion took note of the mixed emotions in the grey irises hovering a hair above his own.

 

Setting his mouth into a hard line, he twisted his arm away roughly; harder than he’d meant to. “I’m fine. Now isn’t the time.”

 

He turned before he could see the other elf’s reaction, not wanting to take it in. In truth, he himself didn’t understand his reaction when Solas was clearly only concerned for his well being. Perhaps it was because he didn’t want to appear weak in the heat of battle, especially after collapsing from one spell at the hand of a Tevinter magister. Whatever the case was, he would address it later; as he’d said, now wasn’t the time.

 

“It is finished.”

 

Cassandra manifested before him, returning her shield to it’s hold at her back. Surprised, he peered around her shoulder to confirm it, though he knew already her words were true. Sure enough, bodies of both dead wardens and demons were scattered across the ritual tower; his companions shaking blood off their weapons. There was no sign of Erimond’s corpse; clearly, he’d used the confusion of the battle to make his escape.

 

“They refused to listen to reason,” Hawke pointed out, coming to stand before Orion along with Stroud and Varric, all appearing breathless.

 

“They’ve been misled,” Orion added. “It doesn’t excuse what’s happened, but I suppose it’d fair in the respect they were attempting to prevent future blights.”

 

“With blood magic and human sacrifice,” he snorted in return, arms crossing over his chest as he threw a disapproving look in Stroud’s direction.

 

“The wardens were wrong, but they had their reasons,” their warden friend shot back.

 

“All blood mages do. Everyone has a story they tell themselves to justify bad decisions. . .and it never matters. In the end, you are always alone with your actions.”

 

“Enough,” Orion pleaded, a sudden pang surging in his forehead. “Erimond mentioned another ritual; we need to figure out where they’ll hold it, otherwise we’ll have to fight both Corypheus and a demon army.”

 

“I believe I know where the wardens are, your Worship. Erimond fled in that direction.” Stroud  paused to point far into distance in a westward direction. “There’s an abandoned warden fortress that way. Adamant.”

 

“Stroud and I will scout out Adamant and confirm that the other wardens are there. When we’re done, we’ll meet you back at Skyhold.”

 

“I’m so glad you needn’t any directions from me,” Orion replied sarcastically, though Hawke didn’t pay him any mind. The gruff mage simply turned away from him, striding forward toward the desert plains. Stroud gave a short, respectful bow before following behind, leaving the inquisitor with his original party once more. He couldn’t believe it was already over; they’d traveled so far for such a short conflict.

 

Brow twitching, he glanced down at Varric, head reeling. “Is your friend ever somewhat polite?”

 

The dwarf grinned up, shrugging one shoulder leisurely. “Nope. You learn to love it.”

 

-

 

It was surprising to the young inquisitor how easily the desert cooled once the sun fell beneath the horizon. It was considerably so; however, the air still buzzed with untamed warmth. But it wasn’t anything compared to the uncomfortable heat that claimed the days; he could live with this. The moon rose high that night; blooming in full, and casting the dry climate in pale light. Orion sat a considerable distance away from the fire of camp, where his companion’s sleeping forms were found.

 

He was positioned atop a boulder that rose up at least six feet in height, but had a flat surface. Legs drawn in, he kept his arms wrapped around them, cheek resting on the peak of his kneecaps. His hair fell loosely over his shoulder like a curtain, the ends of it brushing the stone beneath him. Silently, he fumbled at the bandages covering his wounds from earlier in the day with nimble fingers, listening to the soft song of crickets that would raise up every few minutes.

 

After the events at the ritual tower, both he and the rest of his party had made the decision to cover as much as ground as they could. The effort had paid off; just as the sun had dipped below desert cliffs, they’d reached the camp at the edge of the Western Approach’s territory. After scarfing down a bowl of soup made by himself, Varric had naturally been the first to fall asleep, not even bothering to unfold his bedroll beforehand. There hadn’t been much conversation that evening; Orion had assumed the silence was due to everyone being exhausted.

 

For the most part, anyways; the way he’d behaved towards Solas was still fresh in his mind. It was a trivial matter to focus on; there were more important things at hand, and he was fully aware of it. Still, he couldn’t seem to drag his attention away from it. Now that he wasn’t dizzied from pain, he pondered why he’d acted that way. Normally, the concern from the apostate would’ve set a fire in his lower abdomen.

 

The only conclusion that appeared to make the most sense was he had been ashamed. He’d crumpled in on himself like a doll at the hand of a Tevinter magister; after years of training and becoming an accomplished mage himself. His companions had been kind enough not to comment on it, but it didn’t make him any less embarrassed. It was pathetic; he was far too old and experienced to have succumbed so easily. Then, to make matters worse, he’d been caught off guard and cut by the demon as well. He hadn’t even made up for it in battle; managing to kill the one shade.

 

He let out a soft groan, turning his face and pressing his forehead into the hard surface of his knees. It wasn’t impossible for him to fight at close range; he had the skill of an arcane warrior to aid him with it. But it wasn’t something he could calculate as easily; it left him feeling out of control, both of the situation and himself. To be led like a mindless halla from the center of the battle from a person he. ..respected? It seemed reasonable enough why he would have a negative reaction. However, he knew that it didn’t warrant giving poor treatment to his friends. He would apologize, he resolved. He didn’t want any ill feelings to be left between himself and his fellow mage; the entire world was already falling to shit. The last thing Orion wanted was to lose Solas with it.

 

_ Lose him? You don’t have him to begin with. _

 

The soft sound of someone clearing their throat gave the herald a jolt; body unfurling from itself in an attempt to take a defensive position. However, he’d underestimated how close he was to the edge of his perch. With all the grace he could muster, Orion fell into the sand below face first, the small grains of it filling his mouth. Heat rushed through his body as he scrambled up onto his hands and knees, spitting dirt from his tongue and shaking it from his now tangled hair. A familiar pair shoes appeared before his eyes, and from within he felt the sudden urge to perish.

 

Solas crouched down in front of him, head tilted as he peered into the inquisitor’s face. “Are you alright?”

 

The dark-haired elf shot him a glare in return at the question, standing unceremoniously and brushing sand off the surface of his robes. He imagined he was a sight to behold in that moment; even though it wasn’t visible, he could tell his hair was frightening. The hedge mage didn’t seem to notice it; in fact, he appeared amused.

 

“You could have said something,” Orion growled childishly, fingers moving to work the dust from his onyx tresses.

 

“I frightened you.”

 

“To say the least.” Glancing at the dim fire a ways away, the inquisitor noticed everyone else was still sound asleep. “What are you doing, anyways?”

 

“I noticed you had disappeared; I wanted to make sure you were safe.” Solas spoke matter-of-factly, arms moving behind his back to clasp his hands together as he often did. “I was not sleeping well, as it was. I can assume you were having the same trouble?”

 

“Not necessarily,” Orion admitted. “I haven’t slept at all. My mind was filled with too much to even attempt.”

 

At his confession, the elven apostate adopted a thoughtful look, studying him carefully. In return, Orion continued to work his fingers through his hair, feeling better as the strands smoothed beneath them. Once satisfied that his hair felt it lay somewhat becomingly, he shifted from foot to foot, unsure what to say now.

 

“Would you care to take a walk with me? It may help clear your thoughts.”

 

The invitation was sudden; the younger mage bit his lip nervously, considering it. This was the first time they’d been alone together for quite a few days. The thought of it summoned the familiar set of nerves that always threatened to overtake him every time Solas came near. Still, he had no desire to decline, even with the fluttering of his heart.

 

“Yes.” Dipping his head, he looked toward the camp once again. “Though we shouldn’t go far.”

 

Smiling lightly, Solas nodded in agreement, before turning to lead the way. Orion swallowed nervously, hands wringing together as he followed behind like an obedient pet. They walked that way for a few minutes, the elder elf directing them toward a hill with dead bushes dotted across it. Once halfway there, he shifted his body so he was walking backward, eyes glittering as he looked at the inquisitor.

 

“I would like it if we walked together, you know. I cannot distract you from your thoughts if you remain at my back.”

 

Blushing furiously, Orion scowled at him, picking up the pace until they were side by side. He wondered if he would ever stop behaving so uncharacteristically around his senior mage. Perhaps it the mesmerizing way Solas seemed to be fluid and calculated always, no matter what he said or did. It was unnerving; he could try his whole life and never appear so effortlessly enchanting, even with his control issues.

 

“Ahem,” Orion cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I - well.”

 

Solas turned his head, fixating him with both silver hues expectantly. This walk was supposed to be a distraction from what he was about to say. But Orion figured now was as good a time as any to bring it up; they’d have enough to deal with once they returned to Skyhold to share the events earlier that day.

 

“I wanted to apologize to you, Solas. For today; when I - ah. Snapped, I suppose. I wasn’t angry with you, is what I wanted to tell you. You were only trying to help, so I’m sorry I rejected it in such a way.” The words fell from his lips awkwardly, leaving him to wonder if Solas would try to put him out were he to light himself on fire right then and there.

 

Waving a hand, the apostate gave a small smile in return to his stumbled apology. “It is nothing. Though I have to ask; what caused you to behave that way?”

 

Orion let out a sigh, the leaves of a dried bush brushing up against his thigh as they clambered up the sandy hill. “That man from Tevinter - I have spent the good part of at least ten years or so studying magic. I would like to have thought I was skilled at it, even. But to fall to a spell that way? It’s shameful.”

 

“Especially coming from someone like him,” he spat, surprised as a sudden burst of anger surged within. “But it won’t happen again. When I face him again, he will burn.”

 

The outburst was normally something he wouldn’t have shared with another, not even Cassandra. But Solas was aware of his history with Tevinter; he figured the apostate would understand the venom he held for the place. As they reached the top of the hill, Solas slowed, coming to stand beside a barren tree. Orion paused at his side, surprised to see that their place gave way to a view of the extensive desert. Swirls of wind kicked up across it, swirling clouds of dust into the air that were visible by the grace of the moonlight.

 

“I understand,” his companion said. A small of gust of air picked up where they stood from the north, moving hair across Orion’s back and shoulders. “However, you shouldn’t think ill of yourself for today. Corypheus is not like any enemy you have faced before; these things will happen.”

 

Solas had a point; not to mention, the mark wasn’t something he had carried his whole life. It’s magic was just as unknown to him as their enemy. It was foolish to blame himself for something he couldn’t know, and he knew it wouldn’t matter in the long run. As he’d said, the man from Tevinter would soon burn, and his master along with him.

 

“Thank you,” he murmured, smiling in spite of himself. Solas had said so little, but he felt better anyhow. “Now then, wasn’t this supposed to be a distraction for me?”

 

The bald elf at his side chuckled, shaking his head and looking off into the distance before them. “It was. But since you started speaking, I seem to have forgotten what I had planned to say.”

 

Orion sensed warmth explode within at the confession, wondering if those words meant exactly what he felt they did. He glanced off to the side quickly, head tilting with it so his companion wouldn’t catch him fighting away the smile that threatened again. Being with Solas made him feel so many things at once; it was a delicious sort of inner turmoil.

 

“You travel the Fade often; tell me a story about one of your journeys there?”

 

At his question, the his fellow mage seemed to hum with happiness. Orion moved to watch as the pleased look touched Solas’ eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Normally, he would’ve seized the opportunity to tease him; pointing out the hedge mage loved to hear himself speak. But instead, Orion chose to remain silent, guessing the true reason for Solas’ apparent joy was that someone took interest in what he had learned through his journeys in the Fade. 

 

“There was once a spirit I encountered who had been a blood mage in her own time,” Solas began, the timbre of his voice soft as he watched the billowing hills of sand sprawled before them. “That time was long before Tevinter existed.”

 

Orion had the sneaking suspicion his companion had only added that part of the tale in to squander any immediate ill feelings he would have toward it. Which, he supposed, was fair. Because undoubtedly, at the words ‘blood magic’, bile rose in his throat. The practice had been wielded to destroy the elven empire and enslave the entirety of its people by the magisters of Tevinter.

 

“The skill is quite fascinating. She would often tell me stories of the sacrifices made by others to fuel her spells; spells that could bring lovers back from the brink of death. Her work was admirable; she was able to discover much. Perhaps most admirable of all was she never took a life without consent. And if no sacrifice was to made, she used her own blood.”

 

“Unfortunately, she came from a small village. As time wore on, suspicions and rumors rose up about her intentions; how unnatural the practice was. Amusing, don’t you think, seeing as all magic on it’s own could be considered unnatural in some way, no matter what school of it?”

 

“There’s no arguing that,” Orion agreed. Of course, he blamed shems for that entirely. Their very fear of magic is what caused it to be such an oppressed skill; forcing the practicers to belong to circles, and hunting them down if they did not. Magic posed the same risk as weilding a sword; it merely depended on the wielder’s intentions.

 

“She was eventually killed by a group who believed her work would cause the villages downfall. From the Fade, she watched as disease took them all the next winter; she had been their only mage, and healer. Without her, they perished. She still feels anguish for their passing; it is rare it does not come up when we speak.”

 

_ Speak _ ? 

 

“You regularly converse with her?,” Orion asked, brows knitting together.

 

“Why not?,” Solas turned to look down at him, his expression full of bemusement. “She is my friend.”

 

“I thought spirits were dangerous.” The words were out before he could stop himself. “I’ve never met someone who befriends them.”

 

“Yet you advocated for Cole.” Solas’ tone wasn’t harsh, but it had a point. “Spirits are often viewed too simply. They are no different than you or I; they have thoughts, emotions, their own decisions. It is often the person before them that withholds malevolent influences, not the other way around. Corruption is not solely their fault.”

 

This was the first time Orion had heard anyone describe spirits in such a manner. While aware it was a belief initially adopted by humans, it was universally taught to be wary of them. He seriously doubted his own Keeper would even entertain the idea of such a claim. In fact, Solas’ travelling of the Fade was uncommon, if not a special case. There was none that came to mind he’d met that expressed such interest in it.

 

“So. . .you often consider spirits your friends?,” he asked tentatively.

 

“Of course. They are as worthy of anyone of being considered so.”

 

“I see.” The words came out clipped, escaping before he had a chance to properly shape them the way he’d meant to. It was just that Solas seemed to speak so fondly of beings that were not of this plain, and yet they struggled to hold conversations. It felt like a cruel reminder of the barrier that seemed unbreakable between them.

 

“You disapprove?”

 

It was Solas’ turn to sound hesitant. When Orion glanced up, he found concern in the other mage’s eyes. Concern, hope, fear, longing; it was displayed before him like an open page to a book. His envy was eradicated immediately, replaced by intrigue.

 

“Should I?,” he returned, taking a small, nonchalant step forward so they were hairs apart.

 

“Your people often do.”

 

Orion rolled his eyes skyward, taking care with the motion so that it was drawn out. “My  _ people;  _ yes, I suppose they do. I needn’t remind you I wasn’t raised to believe everything they do and even if I had been, I am capable of individual thought.”

 

Solas’ brows raised in surprise, before a satisfied smile touched the lower half of his well-constructed face. “Sharp-tongued as always. But you still didn’t answer my question.”

 

“No, I don’t disapprove. It’s. . .well, I suppose I don’t know what I think about it. I haven’t met anyone like you before, but I do think it’s valuable you’re able to look at the world differently than others do.” Orion meant it; even if he didn’t necessarily understand why Solas was so fond of the Fade and it’s inhabitants just yet, he saw no reason to think negatively of it. So long as he could be spoke of with the same affection the hedge mage appeared to when it came to both eventually.

 

“You are not what I expected,” Solas mused quietly in response, still smiling. It was softer now; admiring, even. “And that, too, is valuable.”

 

The air changed between them with the apostate's admittance; Orion sensed it so strongly he could swear it was tangible. All to suddenly, his own pulse roared in his ears, the blood running through his veins warming his flesh considerably. His experience with others was lacking romantically, yet he was acutely aware that this unspoken thing that laid between them was desire. Regardless of the fact they referred to one another as nothing more than companions, he could recognize the difference, for this never happened around Cassandra or Varric.

 

The issue laid with hesitance; from both parties. He couldn’t speak for Solas, but he was aware of his own reasonings for never acknowledging these moments for what they were. What they should be. It was fear; fear of being mistaken, fear of Solas. Of course he had read books, seen fellow clan members engage, but it didn’t make this any less foreign. How was acting on his own longing more threatening than demons?

 

It was easier to evade it; to reject even the idea there was anything there at all, even if it was one-sided like he knew it should be. So there he stood, swallowing heavily as a hand came up to twist locks of hair around his fingers furiously. Solas’ own hands were clasped together, making a wringing motion every few beats that passed. Before time itself decided to stand still, Orion cleared his throat, giving the other elf a start.

 

“We should return,” he said, voice cracking. His mouth was dry, and felt like he’d swallowed a handful of sand.

 

Solas nodded in agreement, but he made absolutely no motion to regress toward their camp. “You go on ahead. I should like to stay here for awhile longer.”

 

Lips drawing into a thin smile, Orion simply bowed shorty; without even giving it thought. A habit established from when he was young to give to those he viewed above himself. All the embarrassment of the day paled in comparison to this, and he found he couldn’t scramble away quickly enough, avoiding looking at Solas again, who’d taken a step forward as though he wanted to add something.

 

“Goodnight,” he called back halfheartedly, his gaze fixed on the small light of the fire in the distance as he stumbled down the hill. In a few days time, they would be return to Skyhold. All he allowed himself to focus on was the thought that as soon as they arrived, he would be taking a long, seering bath.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To start off; sorry for any mistakes. I know I've said it many times now but I edit this on my own so I'm bound to miss things. I should probably get a beta already but I don't want to bug my friends. 
> 
> Normally it only takes me several hours to write a chapter. . .this one took me five days. God knows why, it was only a few more pages than normal. I'm fairly happy with the end result though. As promised I fully intend to finally have Solas and Orion get to a somewhat acknowledged romantic point in the next chapter. Hopefully the pacing is fitting?? Oh, I'm finally introducing some of the other party members next time as well. I've been trying to challenge myself with this story and use a lot of characters that are normally not my go-tos when I actually play the game. That's the plan, anyways. Cassandra and Solas are my favorites so those two I did want to use heavily in this story - Solas for obvious reasons haha - but Varric is actually someone I never use. In fact I rarely take rogues with me, it's not my play style. But yeah basically everyone will have their moment :) some more than others of course. This isn't a story in which I'm going to try to cram everyone in and give them all equal amounts of part in the story; there's simply to many of them and I feel doing that heavily derails the story. I don't feel you can flesh out a plot very well that way either; so I'd rather not do it. But again, everyone will have a small role at least, even if it's just their presence being acknowledged. ANYWAYS let me know what you think? Please??


	7. My Dream, Your Desire

_ The buildings stretching above shone brilliantly in the presence of the sun; Orion knew this place was sacred to the nobility. The earth itself seemed to hum with the magic here, every architectural structure surrounding him aided by it. The streets were relatively empty in this area; all those who weren’t of high stature knew better than to linger anywhere but near the edges of them. Only a few other slaves shifted about, casting curious, tentative glances in the direction of the young elf and his mother making their way to the market district. _

 

_ Orion swallowed dryly, his throat tight. On impulse, he moved closer to his mother, walking a hair behind her heels, head tilted down toward the ground. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t cease his trembling. Fear had his eyes wide like shaken child, leaving him comfortable only with staring at the marble road below. _

 

_ “You must calm yourself,” his mother said suddenly. She hadn’t bothered to turn around, but her tone displayed her awareness of his emotions. She, on the other hand, was afraid of nothing. _

 

_ “I can’t,” he whispered, pearl teeth coming down hard on his bottom lip as that began to tremble too. _

 

_ “You must. You have to do this, lethallin.” _

 

_ His mother had begun using elven more often as of late; in preparation, she had told him. Phrasing of the language of his people would be common at his destination. The more he grew accustomed to it, the easier it would be. _

 

_ He’d been dreading this day for the last two years. At sixteen, his mother had explained the reasoning behind the tattoos that covered his body at last. An elven mage, bound by his magister in order to remain obedient. She’d also told him she wanted him to leave; escape, find a Dalish clan. They would be able to free him of his curse, teach him magic; he would be able to live freely with his own people. _

 

_ Of course, he’d rejected the idea. For months, he had refused. He would not leave her behind, not for a group of elves he didn’t know or for the ability to cast spells. It had taken almost a year for them to come to an agreement; only after she’d begged daily. On the day of his eighteenth birthday, he would leave. It was the sole way she would be able to live happily. _

 

_ This day was meant for celebration; some of the other slaves in the estate would’ve covered his assigned tasks so he could steal away and enjoy the day. His mother would take him to the market district like every year, where they would purchase fine fruit that cost a whole six months worth of stolen coin. Then, the baker who seemed to like them despite their race would give him a small cake, wrapped in cloth, while he warned him to stay out of trouble. And after, they would return home before the sun dipped below the sky, where he would ask his mother to recount to him stories of the elven pantheon. _

 

_ That was how today should be. And in some ways, it was. Their fellow slaves were covering their work for the day, and they were journeying to the market district. But it was there his mother would send him away. Somehow, she had made arrangements with an elven merchant from Orlais; he would smuggle Orion out of Tevinter in his caravan. Once they reached the borders of Tevinter, he would leave the young mage to find his way alone. _

 

_ As they moved through the city, the sounds of many voices weaving together grew stronger. Orion felt a surge of panic rise - they were drawing closer to their destination. The buildings around them, while still breathtaking, were undoubtedly becoming less extravagant. The change signaled they had left the area where nobility lingered, and ventured to where they dared not set foot. High ranking people did not bother themselves with matters like browsing the marketplace. That was what slaves were at their disposal for. _

 

_ “Stay close to me now,” his mother ordered, finally turning her body toward him. Her face was set in hard determination, her green eyes chilled. Her hair fell freely down her back, twice the length of his own. The sun being high in the sky caused a halo of light to surround her head; making her raven tresses seem iridescent. He didn’t know how long it would be before he saw her this way again - if he saw her again. _

 

_ Grabbing his wrist, she tugged him close to her wiry figure, leading the way through the heavy throngs of people shouting. Stalls were assembled all around, merchants yelling for anyone to come closer; to come see what they had to offer. Many bumped into them roughly, but didn’t bother apologizing for it. It was simply the way things were. Orion ached from the familiarity of it, finding he would miss even this. _

 

_ In the distance, he caught sight of large caravan pulled by a horse of unimaginable size parked in an empty slot. Nothing was set up, leaving it unbothered by the crowd, whose curiousties were sated by other vendors. Leaning against it was a gruff, middle-aged elf, with rugged hair. He wore a billowing, tattered cloak that concealed most of his body; not unlike the one that hung around Orion’s gangly form. _

 

_ When they were no more than a few feet away, his mother abruptly dragged him off to the left into a secluded corner. There was little foot traffic here, allowing them a semblance of privacy. Her head turned both ways, as though she were making sure no one was listening to them. That lasted a few beats before she seemed satisfied, finally turning her attention to the child before her. _

 

_ “I didn’t want to say anything in front of him,” she murmured, reaching out and adjusting the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder that held his very few belongings. “You’ll need to be passed onto him quickly, to avoid suspicion.” _

 

_ When she seemed satisfied his sack wouldn’t fall to the ground somehow, she directed her attention to his face. Carefully she reached out, brushing her fingertips along the edges of it; caressing his hairline, his jaw. His mother moved over the line of his brow, following the slope of his crooked nose after, and then shifted to brush his braided hair back over his shoulder. He recognized what she was attempting to do; save a mental image of him in this moment. Whether she admitted to it or not, she knew they would not see one another again for a long time. _

 

_ The thought alone broke his already weakened resolve. Tears pooled in his eyes as he let out a shuddering gasp, the urge to begin sobbing near impossible to resist. A small, sympathetic smile touched his mother’s face as she cupped his cheek, whipping at the trail of tears that began to fall. _

 

_ “You have to be strong now, Orion.” _

 

_ “I can’t!,” he wailed softly, trying not to draw the attention of others. His eyes squeezed shut as his shoulders began to shake, his body giving in to sorrow. His mother made no noise as she pulled him into her, arms wrapping around him. In turn, he wove his own around her waist, begging the gods he wouldn’t have to let go. _

 

_ “You are not a child anymore. I can’t be with you forever. Have I not given you all that I can?”  _

 

_ Orion nodded slowly, still crying into her shoulder. The fabric beneath his face was warm and wet, but he didn’t care in the slightest. He wouldn’t pull away until he had to.  _

 

_ “Then do this for me. You’re stronger than you know. I can’t bear the thought of you staying here and living your life out as a slave. That fate is mine, not yours. You are meant to be free; I know it.” _

 

_ Taking his shoulders firmly, she moved him back so they were able to look one another in the eyes. The whites of her own were pink; glimmering with unshed tears he knew wouldn’t fall. One of them had to be brave, and naturally, it was her. “I know it because Mythal told me. You’re meant for greater things than this, Orion.” _

 

_ Mythal? _

 

_ “I’ll come back for you.” _

 

_ The words came out wavering and unsteady, but he meant them. “When I’m strong enough, when the bindings are gone - I’ll come back for you, mother.” _

 

_ Scooping his hand into hers, his mother squeezed it tightly, giving a short nod in return to his promise. “If that is what you wish. And if that’s the case, why should we say goodbye? We’ll see one another again.” _

 

_ A new wave of tears threatened, but Orion agreed with her conclusion. Somehow, it made the idea of his journey the smallest bit bearable. They didn’t need to say farewell if they would see one another again. He just hoped that time would come sooner rather than later _

_. _

_ “I love you,” he told her. He had wanted to use elven, but he couldn’t remember the phrasing. His mind was reeling, so he settled for what he knew - the common tongue. _

 

_ “I love you, too.” _

 

_ Taking a quivering breath but remaining severe in her expression, his mother stood up straight. Still holding his hand, she led the way to the caravan, where his intimidating escort waited. Once they reached him, she slowly released her son, exchanging words with the stranger that Orion couldn’t understand. It consisted mostly of his mother speaking, gesturing to his sullen form often. _

 

_ “He will be safe.” The stranger’s voice was surprisingly soft; it contrasted his appearance quite severely. But it gave Orion hope for the small part of his journey they would spend together. _

 

_ “You have my thanks,” his mother responded, before turning to him one last time. “You can do this. I believe in you.” _

 

_ Leaning in, she pressed a chaste kiss to his damp cheek before pulling away. Her moss-coloured irises were a mixture of emotions as she backed away from them, mouth drawn into a thin line. It was clear she was struggling to remain composed, and it made Orion feel selfish. He was not the only one suffering. In an attempt to ease her, he smiled, despising how false it felt plastered across his face. _

 

_ “Come, boy,” his escort beckoned, remaining consistent with his gentle tone. Nodding, Orion stepped up into the seat beside the stranger, who’d collected the reins that would guide the horse drawing them. “Your hood- you should put it up. There may be people you know on our way out; you can’t been seen.” _

 

_ Orion obliged, thankful anyways as the hood would conceal his tear-streaked face. As the caravan lurched forward, he drew his bag into himself, clinging to it as though it was the only thing grounding him. The pain that took hold of him was foreign; he wasn’t sure how to cope with it. If Mythal had really told his mother to do this, than he hated her. He despised her for forcing him to leave her behind.  _

 

_ “Orion!” _

 

_ At the sound of his own name being called distantly from behind, he leaned over the side of the cart, looking back in confusion. His mother had resurfaced, breaking through the crowd. Both hands were circled around the area of her mouth in a way he assumed was meant to aid him in hearing her calls. _

 

_ “Orion!” _

 

_ “Orion!” _

 

_ “Orion, I -” _

 

“Orion.”

 

“Orion.”

 

The young mage gasped loudly, getting a start from the hand shaking his shoulder with a feather-light touch. Bewildered, his head snapped up, eyes searching the area around him until he found himself looking into a pair of deep brown hues that were familiar, and filled with concern.

 

“Orion,” Cassandra repeated, her horse close to his hart so she was able to rest her hand on his shoulder. It was the first time she’d addressed him by his name in place of ‘herald’. “Are you alright?”

 

“I-,” he blinked slowly at her, trying to collect himself. He reached up one hand, touching the surface of his cheek and coming away with wet fingertips. Giving them a confused glance, he turned to Cassandra with a questioning look.

 

“You fell asleep,” she explained, still fixated on him. He found he disliked the way she was staring at him - as though he were a wounded, helpless animal. “You started to cry, and you were mumbling. I. . .thought it best to wake you.”

 

Wincing at the knowledge, Orion nodded appreciatively, before reaching up and removing her hand from him with care. When he glanced about, he found the rest of his party giving him the same concerned looks. Embarrassment washed over, along with surprise. He’d never fallen asleep while riding, but he supposed it wasn’t impossible. Ever since they’d left the Western Approach nearly a week before, he’d slept little throughout the nights. Clearly, his body had had enough of it.

 

“We are nearly home,” the female warrior pointed out, jerking her chin in the direction ahead. Snow fell sparsely from the heavens above as their mounts made the steady incline toward Skyhold. The beasts knew their way by memory now, needing no guidance from those who rode them. Orion sensed a small wave of relief wash over as he wiped at his face with the backs of his hands. They’d been away for nearly two and half weeks - he was eager to return to his own bed, and to bathe. 

 

Varric pulled up on his other side, appearing curious. “You sure you’re alright?”

 

The inquisitor felt a small prickle of annoyance at the question. It wasn’t under his control that he had cried in his sleep, but he was still frustrated by it. It was all too recently he’d flailed in battle before this group; he was entirely to eager for these displays of weakness to cease. Nodding, he forced a calm smile onto his face in the direction of the dwarf.

 

“I am well. I haven’t been sleeping much,” he admitted. “It was likely due to that.”

 

The lie was quite weak, but Varric thankfully swallowed it. He wasn’t even going to consider revealing the true cause of his tears. He found himself astonished by it anyhow; it had been a long time since he’d recalled that particular memory. And it was no less lost to him how it still stung so, despite how many years had passed. A familiar, dull ache had settled in his chest, making him want to claw at it as though that would make the feeling go away.

 

Squeezing his legs around the center of his hart, his body jumped as the beast started forward at a slow trot, pulling ahead of the others. When he got like this, he prefered to be left to his own thoughts; putting some distance between himself and his friends was the only way to ensure that. Orion remained in their line of view despite, grateful none of them tried to follow him. With the wind blowing at his back, he caught the hushed sound of their voices, but made no move to look behind him - he was likely the subject of discussion.

 

Soured by the notion, he tried to distract himself by watching the way the snow still managed to glint in the overcast sunlight on muddied path below. Though the air of the mountains in this area was often bitter and cold, it’s climate kept enemies from ever drawing near. It had been on more than one occasion Orion found himself curious how Solas knew of it, but he always came to conclusion he must have found it in the Fade.

 

His mother; the dream had felt so real. Even as he watched the silhouette of Skyhold drawing closer, he could see her perfectly in his mind. Stark, onyx hair falling around her face in careful, loose waves; a braid knotted within here or there. Almond-shaped, emerald eyes framed by heavy lashes and severe, darks brows. The way her lips would curl up to reveal a dimple in her left cheek, the bridge of her nose and the area surrounding dotted with freckles from the sun. Her skin even; its tint matching the same, deep gold-brown Orion’s possessed.

 

Everything about the thought was crushing; he ached for her presence. He’d been so weak back then; a frightened child who’d known nothing of the world. He despised that her last memory of him had been that one. It made him wonder what she would think of the person he was now;  _ who _ he was now. Could she have imagined he would be the leader of the inquisition on a path to save this world? He doubted it. But he knew she would be proud were she here, and it soothed the pain just a bit.

 

“Home sweet home!,” Varric yelled jubilantly, giving him a start. Shaking his head, Orion looked up to see he was right; the bridge that gave way to the fortress’ entrance was just ahead. Letting out a sign of relief, he urged his hart into a trot once more; this time, everyone else did the same.

 

Strangely, it felt as if they had been gone for a lifetime. The gates opened before they reached them, servants to the stables waiting to collect their mounts. Orion drew his hart to a steady halt, rubbing it’s neck affectionately before sliding off it’s back with grace. Passively, he reminded himself to think of a name for him. Those waiting bowed respectfully as he passed, earning an awkward nod in return. It appeared their numbers had grown since they’d left; unfamiliar faces buzzed about the grounds as he strode forward, intent only on reaching his quarters.

 

“Herald,” Cassandra called from behind. Marching up, she gripped his upper arm before he made his way up the steps that led to the doors of Skyhold’s interior. Frowning, he gave her a look that asked why in the world she’d stopped him.

 

“Your wounds,” she said, looking toward his left. He’d forgotten the bandages circling around his forearm. Sighing softly, he nodded, already knowing what she was going to say.

 

“Alright,” he conceded, walking back and heading toward a cluster of tents a few meters away. There were several bedrolls set up outside them, where various wounded people lay. Some of them looked to be in far worse shape than Orion himself as he approached, and when he took notice of it, he made a move to retreat. Before he had the chance, one of the healers caught sight of him.

 

“Your Worship.” A dwarven girl smiled kindly, approaching him as she dried her hands of water on a piece of tattered cloth. “What can I do for you?”

 

Wincing a bit at her words, he silently raised his arm, free hand coming up to undo his bandages. For being on the road, he’d done his best to take care of the deep scratches. In his opinion, they seemed to be healing well - but he was no doctor. Once the bandaging had fallen away, the girl opened her hands expectantly, and Orion bent at the waist, moving to lay his forearm in them.

 

A few beats of silence passed as she turned his arm this way and that, examining the scabbed, jagged cuts. “It seems to be healing for the most part; the edges of your skin are inflamed and irritated, though. We’ll make you a salve for it. Unfortunately, those are going to scar. It’s too late to do anything about that now.”

 

“That’s alright; it’s to be expected in battle. Thank you, though. Please have someone bring the salve to me later; I’d like to rest now.” Giving her a tired smile, the inquisitor walked away, picking up his path to his room. Vaguely, he wondered if the scars would be unbecoming, but immediately dismissed the thought. It wouldn't matter if nothing could be done about it.

 

The moment he stepped through the doors to the main hall, Josephine appeared before him, bright-eyed and smiling widely. Orion glanced from side to side desperately, looking for a means of escape from her, to no avail. Of course she’d already been made aware of his arrival.

 

“Your Worship,” she greeted cheerfully. “It’s good to have you back. We’re waiting for you in the war room to give a full report!”

 

“No,” he said cooly, eyes trained on her as that glittering expression froze in place.

 

“I-I beg your pardon?”

 

He shook his head at her, stepping to the side. “I said no. We can do that tomorrow, Lady Josephine. Please; I want to bathe and rest. We’ve been gone nearly three weeks - I think we can spare a day.”

 

The Antivian ambassador seemed to register his appearance then. Her gold-flecked irises regarded him up and down slowly. Orion stood impatiently under her gaze, wondering why she felt the need to apply such care to taking him in. He didn’t need a mirror to know his appearance was likely haggard at best.

 

“Alright, then,” she finally nodded. “But tomorrow, certainly, yes?”

 

“Yes,” he nodded, practically bolting away from her. The herald paid no mind to any of those who lingered in the main hall, focused only on reaching the door that led to his quarters. Once through it, he let it click closed behind him softly, drowning away most noise. Rubbing the back of his neck, he took the stairs two at a time, eager to step into his bedroom.

 

The excessively large area was a welcome sight. Orion gazed across the spacious floor that belonged to him, taking note it had been kept spotless while he was away. Swallowing, he shifted forward, drawing himself up to the vanity and taking in his appearance for himself. Dark circles had made themselves comfortable under his eyes, and his cheeks somehow appeared hollow. His hair managed to look matted despite being fastened into it’s typical, single plait. Dust covered the bridge of his nose, while a small scratch marred the corner of his lower lip. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten it, but he was sure he’d spent the last seven days before Solas like this.

 

Shamed by the thought, he pulled away from the mirror and turned right, eyes falling on a tub large enough to fit his long body. In it was water, which had steam rising from the surface. Blankly, he wondered who had brought the bath, as he hadn’t spoken to anyone here about it save for Josephine moments ago.

 

However, the inviting look of it overrode his curiosity. Shedding his filthy robes, he crumbled them into a ball and set them near the door to be disposed of. Since their battle at the ritual tower, they’d be useless to him now. Making a mental note to ask for another set later, he moved back over to the tub to step into it, a shiver running up his spin at the sting from the water’s heat.

 

Despite the burn, the warmth from the bath felt soothing against his skin. Sighing beside himself, he began to undo his hair, working until it fell against the liquid surrounding him. With care, Orion started the task of washing it; the strands becoming heavier with dampness. He found he didn’t mind it; it was far better than having grit and dirt tangled with every strand.

 

There was no telling how long he stayed there; far past the point of the water retaining it’s warmth. Still, he sat, fingers dancing over the surface of the water; shifting it every few moments with a burst of magic. He wanted to enjoy the bath, for he knew there likely wouldn’t be another chance for this for some time. Blankly, he turned his gaze out toward the balcony, watching birds of prey in the distance circle the snowy mountain caps.

 

Only when his stomach began to groan with hunger was he urged to move. Bracing for the bite of the air, he stood, water rolling over his brown flesh in rivulets. He could tell it was still only late afternoon.  Now that he wasn’t on a mission, time seemed to move slowly, without care. Shivering, the young mage crossed the room, tracking water across the floorboards as he made his way to his dresser.

 

When they’d first arrived, it had been filled with human attire seeing as they’d lost everything at Haven. Still, Orion wouldn’t have it; not more than a day passed before he requested elven attire to be made for him. The shem clothing was made with fine, sturdy materials, there was no denying that. But there was also no denying he felt more comfortable in wear fashioned the way his people’s was.

 

Yanking on the dark robes patterned with thin, silver filigree, he ran a brush through his hair until it fell down his back smoothly before turning to leave. His steps felt lighter; the bath had helped his exahusted state, even if only in a small amount. Padding across the room, he stopped at the edge of his bed, readied to bend down and search for a pair of shoes before he left. However, the sight of a piece of paper lying on one of his pillows caught his attention before he could.

 

For a moment, he was hesitant to reach for it. If the room had been kept tidy in his absence, he knew it had been placed there intentionally. Still, a part of him felt invasive for taking it. A shiver slid down his spine as the paper scratched against his fingertips, the edges of it crisp and folded perfectly. Turning it in his hand, he discovered his name scrawled across the surface, the swirling font written in grace he knew only one person was capable of. Heart starting up excitedly, he made quick work of unfolding the sheet, trying to steady his now-shaking hands.

 

 _We agreed we would spend time together, without being precautious of what is happening around us. I want to speak with you again; it felt as though we were cut short the last time. Consider this my prize for defeating you and Varric in our race._ _I will come for you later; I want to talk somewhere more interesting than this._

 

_ Solas _

 

As the hedge mage’s words ran through his mind, all thoughts of hunger disappeared; replaced by anticipation. A flush took his face as he smiled, crumbling the note in his fist against his chest. There had been little written, yet his head was filled to the point he felt overwhelmed. It was silly, but it left him particularly fond Solas had remembered their race. It seemed bold and unlike him to  _ demand  _ instead of request something of the inquisitor, but Orion found he liked it.

 

Swallowing, he tossed the note onto his bed and walked back over to his vanity, staring at his reflection. Now that he had bathed, his skin managed to appear brighter; more alive. Some warmth had returned to his cheeks, and the circles beneath both dark hues had eased. His night-coloured hair curled softly, winding down to it’s familiar place at the line of his hips. Reaching up a hand, he pushed it through the tresses at the peak of his scalp and chewed his lower lip.

 

Should he attempt something different with it? He didn’t have the means to decorate his hair with much. There were a few circlets in his drawer with gems woven into them, but he felt they were to overbearing. He wasn’t the sort of person who would be able to wear finery without looking foolish; he was simply to plain. Yet there he stood, fussing over himself anyways. He pushed his hair over one shoulder, only to move it over the other moments later. He supposed he could braid it, like always, but he knew Solas liked seeing it freed from that.

 

On impulse, he snatched up his brush, starting to run it through the ends of his hair as he began to pace back and forth. The apostate hadn’t specified when he would arrive; it could be in moments. As he shifted to and from, he glanced at his clothing’s reflection, and wondered if he should change into something else. The black, of course, was slimming against his figure, but surely it could be better. Almost dropping it in his haste, he set his brush back down and strode over to his dresser, yanking open drawers at random.

 

His hands pulled out garments without care, their shades varying from deep emeralds, to sapphires and indigos. Yet somehow, nothing was registering to him; it all looked the same. With an exasperated sigh, he forced himself to step away, eyes tracing over the pile of clothing now strewn about before his dresser.  _ What are you doing? _ , he asked himself, suddenly hyper aware of how ridiculous this was. It wouldn’t matter what he wore; Solas had easily seen him for better and worse at this point.

 

Shaking his head at his own antics, Orion forced himself to return to the bed, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. He would wait, he decided. Wait, and attempt to calm his heart, which seemed to have a mind of its own. His blood sang in his veins with an eagerness he didn’t recognize. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop thinking about seeing his elven companion later. It was absurd; they saw one another daily - this time would be no different than the others, he was sure. Yet still, his mind raced with thoughts he normally wouldn’t have. And for whatever reason, that reminded him suddenly of Arreis.

 

He hadn’t thought about his clan in ages; much less it’s First. Thinking of his companion calmed his heart; replacing the exhilaration with guilt, and. . .longing? It was so abrupt, but his chest ached at the thought of his friend of many years. He hadn’t seen him in so long. Despite the strange note their relationship had ended on just before the Conclave, he found himself yearning for the familiar presence of the blind elf. It would bring comfort to see him again with the world’s impending doom.

 

In fact, it would comfort him to see all of them again. Keeper Deshanna, Soraa, Eindrede; the list of names was long. All belonging to faces he hadn’t seen since before everything had changed. Of course, he’d written them a letter to let them know of what had happened, as he’d been sure they would worry he’d perished along with everyone else in attendance at the Conclave. There had been no response yet, which made him doubt there would be one at all, for that raven had been sent out weeks ago.

 

Orion rolled onto his side, drawing his knees up to his chest carefully. A sigh passed his lips as he frowned, not able to understand why his mind was so tumultuous today. He’d been overjoyed only moments before, but had managed to sour his own mood by dwelling on memories of his old companions. Setting his jaw, the young mage fixed his eyes on the other side of the room to look out the balcony doors, readied to wait for the painful emotions wringing through him to pass.

 

-

 

The only thing that let Orion know how much time passed was the way the sunlight kissed the floorboards, stretching as the light traveled across the sky. Dwelling on his thoughts along with unexpected exhaustion from his journey had left him struggling to stay awake. Every few moments he would fall into slumber as twilight began to fall, only to stir once again. He knew he needed to stay awake - for Solas. But he’d been waiting hours. . .surely, if the apostate had any intention of coming, he would have by now.

 

The thought stung, so much so he welcomed the tease of sleep fully. There was no reason to stay awake and pity himself, so he let his eyes fly shut, falling into empty unconsciousness.

 

-

 

Snow fell from the sky, so gently Orion eagerly met the small white dots against his face, tilting his head upward toward the clouds. There was little noise, save for the soft song of wind brushing through his hair. A pleased sound left his lips as he glanced sideways, fixing Solas with a humorous gaze as he caught the apostate staring.

 

“What?,” he asked, pushing a stray strand of onyx away from his forehead.

 

Solas’ lips turned up into a practiced smile, one that told him his companion wouldn’t be giving up his thoughts. “It is nothing.”

 

The herald chose not to press it, instead walking silently alongside the other mage as he led the way deeper into Haven. For a brief moment, Orion wondered why it was so silent; why no one was lingering about. But he found he didn’t care to know. He was glad they were alone like this, seemingly away from prying eyes.

 

Solas directed them into a building that was all to familiar, ducking when they passed under a loose beam from the ceiling above. Drops of melted snow made their way inside, the sound of them hitting the ground practically inaudible. This was where he’d first awoken in Haven; to the fearsome strength of Cassandra’s voice, asking why she shouldn’t take his life. It felt as though that had happened in another time; he’d been so frightened and confused by someone he now found to be a friend.

 

“I sat beside you while you slept, you know,” Solas said suddenly, turning his head to look at Orion directly. “Studying the anchor after they’d discovered you.”

 

The inquisitor couldn’t help but be embarrassed at the thought of his elven companion beside his unconscious form, turning his marked hand this way and that. “You never told me that.”

 

“You were an enigma; in fact, you still are. I attempted anything I could to produce results, yet found nothing. Cassandra suspected you and I had planned the Breach together; she threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn’t discover what the mark meant.”

 

Orion couldn’t help but laugh, the sound echoing throughout the abandoned room. “Of course she did.”

 

“Yes,” Solas agreed, joining in his amusement before turning to the exit without warning. Orion followed with a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. He wondered why Solas was telling him all of this now; the Breach had appeared months ago.

 

Once they were outdoors again, the elven apostate before him walked in a wide circle, before pausing to turn back to face him. The sunlight peered through the thick clouds above them in a way that gave Solas’ grey eyes a soft glow. It was magnetic, and Orion made no attempt to conceal his staring.

 

“You were never going to wake up,” the bald elf told him. “How could you, a mortal sent physically through the Fade?”

 

“Oh; you assume I’m merely a mortal like you?”

 

Solas smiled at the tease before continuing, seemingly unable to help himself. “Any spirits I may have consulted for help had been driven away due to the Breach. I was frightened; Cassandra had little faith in me, nor I in her. I was resigned to flee.”

 

Orion frowned at his confession, tilting his head to the side curiously. A curtain of sabre hair followed, cascading over his shoulder. “Where did you plan to run off to? The threat of the Breach would exist no matter where you went.”

 

“A place far from here, where I may have been able to study it before it reached me. I will admit; it wasn’t a good plan.”

 

Turning from him yet again, Solas strode forward a few steps with his narrow chin tilted toward the heavens. Orion followed his gaze toward the broken sky in the distance; swirling clouds of green Fade magic vast and threatening. Outstretching his arm, the elven apostate reached toward the Breach with his fingers spread apart.

 

“I told myself: one more attempt to seal the breach. I tried, and failed. Common magic would not affect it. I was prepared to flee, and then. . .”

 

Trailing off, Solas rounded to face him abruptly. They blinked at one another for one beat of Orion’s heart before his fellow elven mage was before him. Never breaking eye contact, his elder companion reached out and touched his palm, so lightly he thought he may be imagining it. Surprised, Orion looked down to watch as Solas slowly threaded their fingers together, the emerald glow of his marked hand peeking out between them.

 

“It would appear you hold the key to our salvation. You sealed it with one gesture, and it was then I felt the whole world change.”

 

“Fool,” Orion murmured, smiling in spite of himself as he squeezed their hands together. Solas’ flesh looked like pale ice compared to the warmth of his own, but he liked the contrast.

 

“No,” Solas said firmly, tugging his arm forward so they were no more a hair apart. Orion nearly stumbled into him, face flushing as his heartbeat picked up without hesitation. Breathing unsteadily, he slowly looked up into a pair of swimming grey irises.

 

“You change everything.”

 

The younger mage swallowed, but his throat still felt tight. The urge to flee was present, as always. He knew how easy it would be to avoid this; to break away and pretend there was nothing between them just as they had many times before. But it dawned on him how eventually, these moments would cease if they continued that pattern.

 

Drawing in a deep breath and feigning a courage he didn’t possess, he closed the distance between them. His heart was thundering as their chests pressed together, and he begged the gods Solas wouldn’t be able to sense it. His companion blinked in surprise at the sudden contact before seeming to relax into it.

 

“So do you,” Orion told him earnestly. With his free hand, Solas reached up and ran it through his hair, stopping once he reached the back of his neck. Orion found he was grateful they were so close together, otherwise he was sure he would faint from trembling.

 

“Solas. . .”

 

His name came out quivering, and the younger elf wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

 

“I don’t know. .I don’t know how to. .”

 

Orion wasn’t even sure what it was he was trying to articulate, fixating both brown hues on Solas’ helplessly. The hedge mage searched Orion’s face in a careful manner, before directing his gaze on the latter’s lips. He seemed hesitant, but only for a moment, before leaning down and closing any distance remaining between their faces.

 

He kissed the inquisitor gently, untangling their hands to cradle Orion’s face. The herald stood shaking, unsure what to do with himself. His mind was reeling at the cool feel of Solas’ lips against his own, causing fire to unfurl within him and set every nerve ablaze. The elder apostate paused for a moment, smiling against his lips, clearly amused at his reaction.

 

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. Carefully, he guided Orion’s arms around his neck, leaving the shorter of the pair sure his heart would burst at that point. Unable to help himself, he pushed his lips against Solas’ abruptly. The kiss was hard and unpracticed, but the older mage didn’t seem to mind. He matched the ferocity, one hand shifting to tangle in his hair roughly while the other moved to the small of Orion’s back.

 

They seemed to stay like that for ages, before Solas finally pulled back a bit, settling their foreheads together. Orion couldn’t bother to reign in his unsteady, shallow breaths, his eyes squeezed shut tightly. Solas let out a soft chuckle, his breath dancing over the inquisitor’s face.

 

“Where’s that sharp tongue of yours now?,” he teased, before releasing what sounded like a disappointed sigh.

 

“We shouldn’t be doing this. . .not even here. . .”

 

Orion opened his eyes at the murmur, blinking in confusion at the way his lips felt swollen. “Even here?,” he heard himself ask.

 

Solas let out another amused sound, looking at him affectionately. “Where did you think we were? I told you I was claiming my prize.”

 

Realization crashed over Orion; in his whirl of emotions, he felt incredibly stupid. Haven no longer existed. There was no one here because everything around them was an imitation of what once was. How had he not realized sooner? So much for being a skilled mage.

 

“This isn’t real,” he breathed, hating the way his voice betrayed his hurt. Solas regarded him directly, before leaning in and pressing his lips behind Orion’s ear. It was effortless, but it sent shivers of electricity down his back.

  
“That’s a matter best discussed later,” Solas whispered, lips brushing against his skin dangerously. “Perhaps after you  _ wake up _ ?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heheheheheheheheh. . .very pleased we reached this point. I'm still a little nervous this was a little to OOC for Solas however I didn't think it would make sense for Orion to initiate like in-game play seeing as he and Solas share that very similar hesitance. So I tried to keep it balanced while of course letting the dread thot himself pull back first. . .anyways :) if I had to guess this will probably be my last update until after Anime Expo? I'll try to make another one sooner but it's not likely. Here's to hoping though.


	8. Update (please no one kill me but I have no idea how else to do this LMAO)

First of all I’m so sorry to anyone - if there’s anyone ahhh - who was hoping this would be a new chapter :/. I have no idea how else to let you all know what’s been going on. Of course, when the next update is ready, I’ll have this taken down.

I just wanted to let everyone know I haven’t abadoned this story by any means. Life got hectic after I returned from California a little over a month ago, and I simply haven’t had time to sit down and gather things for this story.

That being said, I believe I DO have a good chunk of the next update written out somewhere. I think. If not, it’s irrelevant; I’ll be updating soon. Thank you all for sticking with me and thank you so much to those of you who comment and give feedback! I read everything and I appreciate it a lot.

See you all with an official update soon <3


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